A Year and Change
by Tom Sewell
Summary: Sequel to "Nurse Venus." Life goes on after the end of Marvell's war. Some old friends return, and Setsuna makes an unusual new one.
1. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part One**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_This begins the fourth arc in my _American Dream _series, coming after _**Sailor Moon's American Dream**_, _**Under Black Wings**_, and _**Nurse Venus**_. More than a decade has passed since _Sailor Stars_. _

......> Thought quotation

* * *

**Prologue: Election Results**

**Highland Hospital, Oakland, California  
2:35 am PST**

"A YEAR AND CHANGE," said the young man Mamoru Chiba was treating, "mostly on the farm. It wasn't too bad. Won't go on my permanent record." He already was already comfortable with legalese like "permanent record," a sign he was going to have one.

"That is a lot of time out of your life, Mr. Barris," said Dr. Chiba, extracting another shard of glass from his patient's scalp. "You can miss out on a lot in a year. Your lady friend can find someone else while you are away."

"Yeah, I hear you," said Walter Philips Barris. "That ever happen to you, Doc?"

"Something like that," said Dr. Chiba. "This may hurt."

"Aaaa . . . You weren't lying," groaned Barris. 

The last time Barris had been Mamoru's patient he had been in custody. It was when Marvell Jones' gang war had still been raging, but Barris hadn't been one of the casualties. He'd ruptured his appendix while he was in holding at the juvenile hall.

Dr. Gonsoles stuck her head through the curtains. "Chibs, you owe me a dinner. The President just conceded." 

"I should learn not to make bets with you," responded Mamoru. 

When Dr. Gonsoles was gone, Barris asked, "Was that your lady?"

"Dr. Gonsoles is my friend," said Dr. Chiba. "This one is in quite deep."

Barris groaned again, but he didn't flinch. Instead he managed to say, "Where's that real pretty nurse?"

"All of our nurses are pretty, Mr. Barris," retorted Dr. Chiba.

"Don't B.S. me, Doc," said Barris. "You know the one I mean. Blond, great legs . . . Was she your girl, Doc? She was always around, I remember."

Dr. Chiba picked out a couple of more shards before answering. "We were engaged years ago, but we married other people. She is on maternity leave now. Do you have a special lady friend, Mr. Barris? Or a wife, perhaps?"

"I've got some ladies, but no one special now," said Barris. 

"Keep looking for the special one," said Dr. Chiba.

* * *

**Laurel, Maryland**  
**5:35 am EST**

"Well, Walt, you owe me a bottle of Johnny Walker," said Halinan, holding out his glass. "Black Label, if you please."

Harold Walters Rostov was "Walt" to people who knew him well, and one of those people was Charles Halinan, the new Assistant Director of the FBI. Politically they were at opposite poles, but they had been friends since law school and so had their wives. Rostov poured a little scotch and a lot of soda into the glass, saying, "That should be about a year's supply for you, Charlie. Mavis told me your doc--"

Halinan cut him off. "Don't be a sore loser, Walt." He tossed off about half the glass. "She may keep you on."

"No," said Rostov, shaking his head. "Threlkeld will be her National Security Advisor, and he'll want to have his own boy managing the Agency. Time for me to fold up my tent and move on." He poured himself a drink and lifted it up. "And time for you to move up, Charlie."

"Maybe," said Halinan, touching glasses and finishing his drink. "So, what's your plan, Walt? You've always got one or three."

Rostov put the scotch back into the liquor cabinet, saying, "Oh, I don't know. Hang up my shingle somewhere, I suppose."

"Right, Charlie, right," said Halinan, drawing out the words so there could be no mistake that he did not believe what Rostov had just said. "You've probably got five offers lined up."

"Three," said Rostov, "I'm not that much in demand." He finished his drink. "But I'm staying on until January. Got a loose end or two to look after."

Halinan asked, "And just what loose end do you want to tell me about, Walt?"

"Well," said Rostov, "There have been certain arrangements between your Bureau and our Agency for awhile. Actually since before G.W., but mostly under this Administration. I would like to ensure that those arrangements continue through the next Administration. The new President may not appoint an understanding man--or woman--to replace me, and he or she might allow our arrangements to lapse. I think it is in the national interest for these arrangements to continue to function."

"You're being about as clear as mud," said Halinan. "What are you getting at?"

"Charlie," Rostov said, "There's more to these angel sightings than we've allowed the public to know."

"Well, I'll get Scully and Molder right on it," Halinan retorted, breaking into laughter. Then he saw that his friend was not joking . . .

* * *

**Chapter 1: Third Trimesters**

**Paris, France**

MICHIRU WOKE UP to the familiar nausea. Haruka was already up and gone from her bed, and Titania was bringing in her usual tray of broth and tea and juices. And there were no signs Roland had returned at any time.

"Where is the paper, Titania?"

"Oh, I forgot."

"You are such a poor liar. Bring it, please."

"Yes, _maman._"

"Is Nereid awake?"

"No, _maman._ Should I wake her?"

"Not yet . . . the paper!"

Haruka returned to the room with her bowl of runny tofu, which made Michiru's nausea return. She fought it down, taking some broth, the easiest edible to keep down, before allowing Haruka to give her the first kiss of the day. Michiru did not allow more than that first kiss, though.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's right! I'm beached like a whale, you are just as far gone, and darling _Roland_ is doesn't bother to come back at night. He's in the paper again, isn't he? Doesn't he have the _brains_ to keep out of sight? The _courtesy_?" 

"Of course he isn't hiding. He _loves_ being in the papers. You knew that from the beginning."

"I didn't know I was going to be a _laughingstock._ And you . . . " Michiru stopped, realizing that Titania had returned, with the paper. She took it, and embraced the child, the product of Haruka and the maddening man who had entangled them both.

Haruka kissed Titania's brow, and said, "I'm sure _otousan_ will be home all the time after the babies come. He just doesn't like to be around crabby old pregnant ladies. Go, have your own breakfast. And make sure Neri-chan doesn't just have pastry."

"Yes, Anne-Marie gave her _five_ yesterday," added Michiru. "Tell Anne-Marie to stop that."

"I will tell her, again."

When Titania was gone, Michiru opened the paper to the arts section, and, sure enough, there was Roland. "With _her?_ Haruka, doesn't he have any _taste_ at _all?."_

"We still have each other," said Haruka, who then managed to get in a second kiss. Then, scanning the picture and the article, she added, "We could be worse off."

"How?"

"We could be like Setsuna. Or Minako."

* * *

**Orlando, Florida**

One of the perks of being the Security Supervisor (the fancy new name for the House Detective) was having the front desk sort his mail. Martin Tiggs was well-liked by the staff, so he usually got his real mail separated from his junk mail. So, he was able to toss the junk before leaving the front desk. He thought about dumping the letters, too, one addressed in the childish hand of Lorraine, the other in Setsuna's elegant printing, almost calligraphy. But he took both of them to his office, and left them there, until the early evening lull.

He had made the mistake of answering Lorraine the first time, and now he would have to answer another one. He read Lorraine's letter first, and scribbled out a short reply, on one sheet of hotel stationary. Then he held the one from Setsuna. It was stiff, and thick; it had to have a photograph. He was tensing to tear it up--but instead, he opened the envelope.

There were two photos inside. The first was Setsuna, sitting on the bed they had shared, dressed modestly as always, not particularly emphasizing her pregnancy. The second . . .

That was a photo of her fully transformed, with wings, and the peculiar staff she could manifest. Her true nature.

Still pregnant, though.

There was writing on the back of that photograph:

_Airport, 6 pm, 12-24._

The same day Lorraine was "just coming down" with her mother.

Martin Tiggs tore that photo into small pieces and burned them in his ashtray. He was starting to do the same with the other one, but he stopped just before the first tear reached her face. He put it in the back of his bottom drawer.

He went out to prowl, and had a hooker arrested he would have probably just chased off on another day.

* * *

**Kensington, California**

Ikuko had spent most of her time traveling with her husband for years now--more years than would be possible without working for the Grey Company. But she had moved herself back into the old Kensington mansion, first to help with her newest granddaughter, Rhea, and then to keep an eye on her firstborn, Usagi, through her third pregnancy. To make things even more interesting--and difficult--she was expecting her own third child. It was a surer indicator of the magic in her bloodline than learning a few household spells.

Now Hotaru, whose difficult pregnancy had drawn her back before everything else happened, was one of the few women in the household who _wasn't _pregnant. But at least Hotaru was a dutiful daughter-in-law. Olivia was _impossible_ to bear, especially since she was the indispensible one.

Olivia was a tiny Filipina, not even as tall as Chibi-Usa, but a woman, and the mother of her own child. She was now the housekeeper. But she was not _really_ a mere employee because she was the widow of the brother of Minako's late husband--she was _family._ Her husband had been a powerful gang lord. Now that he was gone, she was penniless. But not _useless._ Ikuko estimated that it would take three people to replace her. At least.

But Olivia's way of keeping the house meant _running_ the house, which meant she was always arguing with Usagi--and with Makoto. And she annoyed Ikuko because she was really _mothering_ Usagi and even Makoto--and the tiny woman, closer in age to Chibi-Usa than to Usagi, was really pretty good at it.

Ikuko wanted to mother Minako in through her widowhood and approaching childbirth, but Minako had a mother--who had returned also. Returned with the Founder, the little wizard who was the leader of the Grey Company, and the news that he had married her at last, but without much news about where they had been or what they had done.

But the Founder deferred to Olivia as well--in fact, Minako's sensitive daughter Ishtar informed Ikuko that the little man, one of the most formidable wizards in the multiverse, was actually a little afraid of Olivia.

The one woman in the household Olivia did not try to boss was Setsuna. But now Setsuna was packing up.

"Why are you packing?" Ikuko asked Setsuna. "You can come back to get whatever you want."

"No. I am not coming back, not without Martin. I will live with him, or near him."

"But you won't be going until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow all the children will be home. I will be with them until it is time to go."

Ikuko sighed. "I have just gotten to know you. Now who will I talk with?"

"You will run up phone bills that will give Kenji something to complain about. He is never happy unless he has _something_ to be unhappy about."

Ikuko laughed, but it did not chase the hollowness from her heart for long.

* * *

Hotaru came to Minako's room again that night, summoned by Ishtar. She threw up a wall of silence, so that Minako could cry herself to sleep again, without waking anyone else. When it was done, and they were sure Minako was really asleep, Ishtar said, "Mama is hurting more now."

"I think it is because of the baby," Hotaru said. "When you have a baby inside of you, you can have extra trouble with your feelings."

"I know _that._ I have been around many pregnant ladies. But I think mama needs more help. Grandma isn't enough. Mama hides her troubles from her."

"Who could help? We cannot sent her to a psychologist."

"No . . . but what about Artemis?"

"Artemis has not been her guardian for many years. He has not even been a _cat_ for many years. I do not know where he is now. Even Mama Setsuna does not know that."

"Ask the little man, when my Grandma is not around. He should know."

"All right, I will try, sometime tomorrow . . . what is it _now, _Ishi-chan?"

"Remember to do it _before _Shingo gets here. You will not remember after."

"Ishi-chan, you are _still_ a child. You should not--"

"I know what _you_ are feeling all the time. Remember to talk to the little man first. And remember to be careful, or you will have _another_ baby inside you soon after Shingo comes back."

* * *

**Palo Alto, California**

Dr. Yawada, the head of Oncology at Stanford Hospital, felt bittersweet joy when he saw that Dr. Mizuno had come with her friends. Ami, his perfect love, the sweet soul that brought simple joy to his heart. Always beyond his reach, and perhaps that is why she was so perfect.

But there would be no light conversation today. They had come to receive his final diagnosis. After the courteous words that must be said, Dr. Yawada pronounced sentence: "Tomiko, I am advising you to discontinue chemotherapy. If you wish to continue, I will recommend other oncologists. But I will not continue it. I feel it is doing more harm than it is worth."

The elder Mrs. Kumada--actually younger than one of Dr. Yawada's daughters--looked very old now. A tear escaped from one eye, dissolving the makeup carefully applied to cover her pale, sickly skin. Her daughter-in-law instantly responded, dabbing away the salty destroyer with a tissue. But when she made to repair the damage, Kumada Tomiko pushed her hands away. "No . . . please, not now." The doomed woman gathered herself for a moment more, and then said, "Yawada-san, what would you have me do?"

"You can stay at home, if you wish. I will provide stronger pain medication." Dr Yawada looked at her son as he added, "The strongest." _Maybe he would understand._

"How long?" asked Kumada Tomiko.

"Impossible to say. Several weeks, certainly. Perhaps several months."

Tomiko turned to her son, and then to her daughter, and Ami. "Long enough to see the babies, then." She smiled, crackling more of her makeup.

After that, Dr. Yawada explained the all-too-familiar details of how to make death as comfortable as possible.

* * *

**Kensington, California**

Usagi was still blessed with the power to sleep whenever she wished, and she used it even after hearing the horrid, inevitable news from Rei-chan. Another death, and, likely, she would be asked to use her powers to help send Yuuichirou's mother on her final journey. If she stayed awake, she would brood about that prospect.

Besides, if she stayed awake, she would also fret about Chibi-Usa being off with Setsuna, and Setsuna leaving . . . how like her, to leave just when Usagi was used to having her around. The evening would be long, and she wanted to be rested for the few hours Mamoru would be home, before he went back to the hospital, on duty, as usual, over Christmas, so that his Christian friends could be home.

But in her dream, she found all her worries, and more.

The dream started as it always did. She was dancing with Mamo-Chan, on a great parquet floor. There was no roof overhead, only stars and moons--many moons, of different colors and sizes. Music came from everywhere, and nowhere.

And then she was in her wheelchair. Mamo-chan began to dance with others, first Ami, then Rei, then Minako, then Gin-chan. More and more people appeared around, dancing, or applauding. The other senshi, the children, the Ayakashi . . . Diamond and Sapphire and Emerald . . . the Witches 5 . . . the Four Generals. Other enemies she had fought, until at last the boys with guns. They clapped and cheered, even as they withered and crumbled, even as they had under her merciless gaze . . . 

Sarah was dancing with Mamoru, tall and elegant as the Wicked Lady, winged and skull-jeweled as Chibi Death. Then Kimi, sweeping the crowd with her third eye like a searchlight, the crowd showing as withered corpses while the beam was upon them. And then Neherenia, laughing in triumph, and finally Galaxia, in all her forms from Chibi Chibi through the beautiful Sailor Warrior and finally the vessel of Chaos. And each of them crumbled away in Mamoru's arms. Finally they were alone again. Mamoru reached out to Usagi . . . and crumbled away.

Then something dark began to cover the moons . . .

And that was as far as the dream went, this time. Usagi saw she had slept for longer than she intended. As soon as she found Sarah had not returned, she used her communicator. Sarah responded in her usual way. She didn't answer at all, and came back after twenty nerve-racking minutes. Usagi was still squabbling with her headstrong daughter when Mamoru returned home.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Sweet Lorraine**

**Orlando, Florida**

LORRAINE HAD BEEN a change-of-life baby for Miriam Nussbaum, twenty-three years younger than her brother David. There was nothing really wrong with Lorraine; she had been an adorable child. But after Phyllis and David, Lorraine had been an inconvenience, and then a disappointment, and Miriam just could not hide those feelings from her youngest daughter. That is why Miriam was willing to do something as dubious as flying with Lorraine to Orlando the day before Christmas.

The trip was a disappointment. Miriam remembered when flight had had a cachet of romance: stewardesses in smart uniforms, serving champagne and the best of catered food aboard gleaming silver airliners. The aircraft which had brought them to Orlando from New York was as crowded as a city bus, and not much cleaner, at least on the outside. They had to make do with peanuts, served by increasingly irritable flight attendents as the aircraft was bumped again and again from the landing pattern. They had landed more than two hours late, and spent more than another hour getting to the terminal.

"He's here! There!" Lorraine exclaimed, pointing out the window.

Miriam had been reading; she pulled off her glasses and tried to find Martin Tiggs, hoping her daughter had actually seen him. But she couldn't make out any facial features from this distance, even white ones. Tiggs was eggplant-dark, and while there were some very dark men in the crowd, they could be anyone to Miriam. "Are you sure, honey?"

"Yes, I'm _sure_, Mom."

The plane was being turned to nose into its space, so the closest terminal windows wheeled out of sight. Miriam had no idea who Lorraine had had in mind. She hoped it would be Tiggs, though, because Lorraine would be shattered if her ex-husband did not bother to pick her up. "Don't get up, honey . . . let's just wait until there isn't as much of a crowd."

_If only she'd stayed in City College, _thought Miriam as they waited to exit the plane. Transferring to Yale had been the big accomplishment of Lorraine's life. But she'd met Tiggs there. A gentile, and black. Such a _fine_ choice. Still, that had been bearable, after a time; if she had dropped out, he had graduated, and went into the FBI. He was so supportive through the miscarriages. But afterward, separation, and then divorce. He was supposed to be starting an undercover assignment, according to Lorraine; that was why she had let him go. Miriam never asked Tiggs' opinion about that.

That undercover assignment had been real enough, but it had turned out badly. Miriam Nussbaum had enough friends in high places to discover that Tiggs was suspected of actually working for the gang he was supposed to be investigating. Whatever the truth, Tiggs was finished with the FBI. He was a hotel detective now, a dubious job for a dubious man. And he wasn't even Lorraine's dubious man now. He'd married again, though Lorraine had assured Miriam, "It was all a big mistake; he's just waiting for final papers now." _How many other women? How many other secrets?_

But Tiggs had come to meet Lorraine; he actually was waiting just outside the ramp. Miriam Nussbaum was glad of that for about one second. That gladness ended when she saw Lorraine's shoulders slump, which could only be from bad news.

Miriam struggled to catch up. A girl came up, and offered her help, and Miriam took it before realizing she was a stranger. But not a stranger to Tiggs, who took Miriam's travel bag from the girl with unconscious familiarity. The girl seemed to be a very young teen, a petite Amerasian affecting strawberry blonde hair, but . . . _no, not this one!_

But it seemed to be that one. As they walked on to the central nexus of the terminal, the girl kept up with Tiggs, and he kept leaning over or bending down to listen or to say things--none of which Miriam heard. Lorraine stayed with Miriam, who fell behind Tiggs and the girl. Lorraine did not talk, but she was moist-eyed, and Miriam knew if she asked even one pertinent question, Lorraine would break down. So Miriam kept silent.

At last they reached the baggage claim area. The girl went ahead of even Tiggs, and actually gathered most of the bags. She had a cart for them, but there was already some luggage on it. When Miriam caught up at last, she said, "No, no, those aren't ours."

"They are mine," said a soft, clear voice from behind.

Miriam Nussbaum turned around, along with her daughter.

The girl pushed between them to stand beside a very exotic woman of almost unearthly beauty, putting a familiar arm around one of hers. "This is my Auntie Setsuna," said the girl. "She is Mr. Tiggs _real_ wife now."

The exotic woman, who had very long hair, colored a dark green, spoke with the soft, clear voice Miriam had first heard. "That is something that has not been settled. You are Lorraine, and you must be Lorraine's mother?"

Miriam said, "Miriam Nussbaum."

The woman bowed as best she could, which was not very far, because she was _very_ pregnant. That probably triggered Lorraine's breakdown at last.

* * *

Martin Tiggs slipped away from the women, not to abandon them, but simply to be elsewhere until Lorraine got her wits back. He couldn't cope with Lorraine's haplessness and Setsuna's magic together.

And he couldn't cope with Sarah, either, but she had followed him. "Don't run away and leave Setsuna!" the girl said, and he thought he felt the tingle of compulsion--this half-grown girl had that power, if she chose to use it.

Tiggs said, "I'm not, I said I'd be back. But you know that. Don't you do your thing on me!"

"I'm not! I promised . . . " Sarah's brashness had left her, and Tiggs saw her as the undergrown, secretly unsure girl he knew her to be, despite all her powers. Sarah continued after a moment, in a small voice, devoid of brashness and bluff. "Mr. Tiggs, I am sorry I did what I did to you. I am sorry for all of us . . . If you won't forgive me, I will understand. But Auntie Setsuna loves you, Mr. Tiggs. Please, won't you forgive her?"

Tiggs wished he could smoke, but that was banned even outside at the airport. Turning around, he could see the three women together. Lorraine seemed to be at least half-controlled, but she kept rubbing tears from her face as she listened to Setsuna.

Tiggs pointed them out. "Look. Setsuna isn't the only woman who thinks she loves me, or needs me. Lorraine did nothing to me like what you all did."

Sarah said, "No . . . but you don't love her the way you do Setsuna."

Tiggs said, "Yeah, I know. You can read my heart."

Sarah said, "Anyone could read that in your heart. Lorraine does."

Tiggs said, "Lorraine is not going to give up. You must know that, too."

Sarah said, "Yes . . . But Setsuna won't give up." She got a sad look on her face. Then she looked down at her watch, which was flashing. "I'm going back. Mom must be worried. Call us when the baby starts to come." And then Sarah wasn't there. A few people did double takes, but soon moved on. Only Martin Tiggs knew his eyes weren't playing tricks.

* * *

Martin Tiggs slept perhaps two hours before the knocking on the door woke him. It was Lorraine. He let her in. As soon as she was inside, she began kissing him. But she stopped, and stepped back, after a minute. "Well . . . sorry. Maybe if I dye my hair green and put an ice cube up my ass." She tried to push past him to the door.

"No. Don't just walk out," he said, closing the door. "We need to talk."

Lorraine snapped. "Why? What's to talk about? I don't need you to tell me what a big fool I've been." Lorraine sobbed for a moment, but then she regained control. "I just wanted to get back with you. I don't ecare what you did. I just want you back."

Tiggs said calmly, "Lorraine, I'll always care for you, but I don't want to be married to you."

Lorraine said,"Because I didn't have kids? It's not like I'm not too old to try again. And is she having _your_ kid?"

"Yes, she is," Tiggs replied.

Lorraine persisted. "You're sure? _Really_ sure?"

Martin Tiggs said, "I didn't leave Setsuna because she was cheating on me. It was about . . . something else."

Lorraine took a step back, and regarded him. "You're letting her come back, aren't you?"

"She's about to have my baby, Lorraine," Tiggs said. "Should I be sorry I'll be able to be with my child?

Lorraine was not satisfied with that answer. "No, it's more than that . . . did you really file for divorce?"

Tiggs really did not want to explain. "Yes . . . but there are . . . "

"You changed your mind, didn't you?" said Lorraine.

He started to step forward to embrace her, but thought better of it. "I decided not to decide, for now."

"But you've decided about me," said Lorraine, "Haven't you?"

"Yes. I'll always care for you, Lorraine, but it won't work between us," said Tiggs. He thought about explaining his conflicting emotions about Setsuna, but there really was no way to do that without explaining . . .

Lorraine spoke calmly, if haltingly. "Well . . . I guess that's that . . . can I go now?"

"Yes." He opened the door, and stood aside. She left without another word. She did not look back.

* * *

Lorraine looked down the stairwell for a long time, but decided against it. It would be a longer fall, because it went into the basement, but she might bounce off the stairs on the way down, ending as a twisted mess. She walked out onto the topmost walkway, and along it, until she found a place where there were four empty parking spaces right together, right below. She didn't want to land on a car. She put a foot up onto the railing . . .

"Do not jump," said a soft, clear voice from behind.

Lorraine turned around, knowing who it must be. "How did you find me? Were you following me?"

"I will not let you do it," asserted the woman softly, yet with great authority.

"Really?" _How did she know?_ "I'll just wait until you're not around."

Marty's new woman said. "Do not do this thing. You will hurt your family as well as me and Martin. And you do not know what death is like."

"And I suppose you do?" Lorraine was feeling more than resentment. The woman was _strange_. Now that Lorraine was alone with her, the strangeness was unsettling. "What are you? Some kind of _witch?_ . . . Did you put a spell on Marty?"

The strange woman said, "If I had such powers, I would not use them on Martin to get him back. What would that be worth? But _if_ I had powers, I would use them to save you. I do not want him back, as you say in America, over your dead body."

Lorraine looked past the woman who was taking Martin away from her, spoiling any chance to make things right again. Lights had come on in the window behind her, and a face peered through the blinds.

"Come," the woman said in her soft, strange voice. "It is not your time."

Lorraine didn't know why, but she went with the strange woman, away from the stares of the couple that came out to see what was going on, down the elevator, and on to the woman's room.

Before they entered, the woman asked, "Did you leave a letter? A note? You should get it, if you did."

Lorraine said, "No. Nothing dramatic like that . . . "

The woman said, "That is good. Come inside. I want to talk."

Lorraine hesitated, but there was nowhere else to go except back to the room to rejoin her mother. She entered.

The woman excused herself. "I must use the bathroom first."

Lorraine said, "Okay . . . I remember what it was like."

"What it was like?" the woman asked.

Lorraine said, "Being pregnant . . . Have to stay close to a bathroom."

The woman said, "Yes . . . I will be a few minutes." 

Looking for something to focus on besides what she had almost done, Lorraine noticed some photographs Marty's provisional wife had set out. They were all in simple, thin metal frames, with some kind of clear plastic covering the photos. Light, but strong; a good choice for a traveler. None of them was of Marty. Most were photos of several people together. Two people showed up more than any others: the girl who had been at the airport with the woman, and another girl, now a young woman, with a baby in her arms. Both also had collages which showed them progressing from infancy to their present ages.

"This is quite a collection," Lorraine said to the woman when she came back. "Is this your daughter?"

"No," said the woman. "Hotaru was my ward, after her father died."

Lorraine pointed out another face in the picture, the largest. "And this one? She was at the airport with you."

The woman said, "She is Chibi-Usa. Actually, her name is Sarah, but we all call her Chibi-Usa." She pointed out a woman in the wheelchair. "Usagi is her mother. Chibi-Usa means 'little Usagi.' Or Little Lady, or Little Rabbit. 'Usagi' means both in Japanese. After Hotaru, Chibi-Usa is my favorite child."

Lorraine pointed to others in the picture. "Who's this? And these two?"

The woman pointed herself as she answered. "She is Kimi, Usagi's other child. And this is Haruka, and Michiru. Haruka and Michiru also helped raise Hotaru. They have children of their own now. We all lived together for a time, but now they are living in France."

"Oh," responded Lorraine, sensing that there was more to that than the woman wanted to say. "Why to you have so many pictures?"

The woman answered, "My friends gave them to me before I left my old home. Most were taken by Usagi's father. He is a professional photographer."

Lorraine said, "You have a lot of friends."

The woman sat on her bed, and drew out her next words. "Yes . . . but not _here. _When my baby comes, I will not have my friends here to help me take care of her. I will not want to leave her with a stranger."

Lorraine took a moment to get the implication. "What do you mean? _Me? _You want _me?_"

The woman said, "Yes. You love Martin, and the baby will be Martin's child. And I will pay you. I have savings, and I will find work."

Lorraine asked, "Work? What do you do?"

The woman said, "I have some skills. I have been a professional dressmaker. And I have pilot's certificates. I fly both airplanes and helicopters."

Lorraine said, "Well . . . I didn't know about any of that. But I'm a stranger to you."

The woman Marty had abandoned said, "The baby will not come until the new moon. You will not be a stranger by then."

* * *

**Chapter 3: Along the Charles**

**Cambridge, Massachusetts**

KAYAMA MIKA or Mika Kayama, as her MIT student body card read, walked along a few steps behind Tsukino Shingo (or Shingo Tsukino, to Americans) looking at him and his wife together. After quick, guilty looks at photographs, here she was, the mother of his child. They were strolling along the Charles, enjoying the last day before classes would start, and the last day Hotaru would be with him for awhile. Shingo's oldest nieces had also come to visit; they were walking or running ahead, roughhousing--like regular American girls, really . . .

* * *

Kayama Mika had not really considered _romance_ with Tsukino Shingo; it surprised her. Shingo had been her schoolmate, her friend, who had remained her friend even when he moved away to America, ten years before they both came to the MIT campus in Cambridge, Massachusetts, just across the Charles River from Boston. They had written lots of letters, even after Mika began to suspect Shingo had discovered other girls, and then another girl . . . and then, the letters almost stopped, for two years, and they had a more polite tone than suited Shingo.

Not that he wasn't honest. He said he had fallen in love with someone named Hotaru. But he didn't write much about her. That was being sensitive, Mika knew, at least as Shingo understood it, but it would have been better for her if he had written more about the mysterious girl who had taken his love.

Mika thought of herself as a sensible girl, and she had not brooded much about losing Shingo. She had all the dates she cared for through Senior High, which weren't many. She didn't fall in love with anyone. That was silly; falling in love was silly for a schoolgirl. Even though she had still been a child when Shingo had been with her in Japan, she already knew enough to know that Shingo's sister Usagi and her friends, except for Mizuno-san, seemed to be boy-crazy, and really not as grown-up as herself. And Mika's early judgments seemed to have been right . . . Usagi's oldest daughter was a love child, and she must have had her very young, perhaps even _before_ Mika had met Shingo. From Shingo's stories, some of his sister's boy-crazy friends must have had love children at young ages. No wonder they had all left Japan . . .

But Shingo's wife was anything but a silly little girl. She was slightly built, even delicate-looking. But Hotaru was no weakling, and there was _nothing_ silly about her. She didn't babble on like Usagi or even Shingo. She was quiet. In fact, she had uncanny stealth; several times over the past three days, Mika had found Hotaru right next to her without realizing she had approached. Even her child was an unusually quiet one.

Hotaru had asked her no important questions at all. None in words. But her eyes were difficult to meet. Mika had no doubt that Hotaru knew there was something between her and Shingo after her first real look into those eyes . . .

* * *

Mika was shaken from her lonely reverie by the realization that Shingo and Hotaru had stopped. Two young women were speaking with them; one of them had a camera. The nieces came back. Then one of them, the little one, Kimi, ran back to her and said, "They want to take our picture. Come on."

"No, I shouldn't be in it."

"Don't be like that. Come on, you are our friend."

"Oh . . . all right, Kimi." The older niece was, if anything, worse than she remembered her mother being, but Kimi was a sweet child, if a little more direct than Mika felt comfortable with. Mika put on her best face, and went with Kimi to pose with the others.

* * *

Mika begged off going to the airport with Shingo's family. She told them she was not feeling well. She wasn't; she was heartsick. 

Mika had already made the really important decision before Shingo had left. What she thought about was whether to tell Shingo that night. If she called, he would be sure to come over . . . if she went over, that could be worse. But Mika just could not let it go . . . after trying to sleep for awhile, she dressed, and made her way to Shingo's dorm.

She knocked softly on the door, until the light showed from the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door, and it opened. Shingo was in his pajamas.

"Mika?" he asked.

She stepped inside, rubbing against him, and closed the door. "Where is George?"

"George is not here. His flight was cancelled. He will not be able to come before tomorrow."

"Then he will miss his first day."

"Yes. But we have mostly the same classes. Between you and me, I think we have all his classes."

"Yes . . . Shingo, I must tell you something."

"What?"

"I have been watching your wife with you. She knows what is between us. I should not be with you. I am ashamed, now, very much ashamed."

"You do not have much to be ashamed of, Mika. We have done not much more than kiss. Only two times, really . . . It is not wrong to feel love, I think. Not just to feel it." He gestured. "Sit on George's bed. I will sit on mine."

Mika did sit down, carefully, on the very edge of the bed. Then Shingo sat, and began talking again. "We _are_ friends. And we are going to be working together a lot."

"No. No, I think we should find different study partners, and different partners for our projects. If we are together too much . . . You have a fine wife, Shingo. She is sensible. More sensible than myself, I am afraid . . . To hurt her would be a great wrong."

Shingo sighed. After what seemed a long silence, he said, "Perhaps you are right."

She got up, and went to the door, and began to open it. But then she closed it, and went back, and kissed his forehead. "_Sayonara, Shingo-chan,"_ she said. And then she began to cry.

Shingo reached up to put one comforting hand on her cheeks.

Mika grabbed his hand. In a few more seconds, all her resolutions were forgotten . . .

**Chapter 4: The Chibi Sailors**

**Kensington, California**

SARAH UER had a number of differences from her mother, but one thing she shared was an inclination to act on her own. She wasn't _quite_ as foolish--she could remember too much from her previous life to go about _too_ carelessly.

Sarah had curbed that tendency more than ever before in the time before the birth of her second and third sister. In fact, she went through the longest period of model behavior (well, for her) of her life, because of her parents and her "Aunties."

Mamoru and Usagi were very worried about her third pregnancy. Pregnancy is never a trivial matter for a paraplegic, and _twins . . ._ Sarah didn't have to read their thoughts to know how they felt. This was a time when Sarah worried about upsetting her mother and Mamo-chan, whom Sarah loved as if he were her father. Most of her "Aunties" were also expecting, and Setsuna and Minako, her favorites, had terrible troubles besides.

Sarah wasn't the only one who was on her best behavior. Ishtar, of course, was sensitive as ever, and Kimi was seldom very far from Ishtar, in distance or opinions. This made getting away with _anything_ difficult, because Ishtar and Kimi were the most likely to inform the grownups about something they felt was too important to keep a secret. It would have been _impossible_ to have a life if Kimi didn't usually give Sarah the benefit of a doubt, and if Ishtar didn't usually go along with Kimi.

It was Kimi who first reported to Sarah about Zoë. Sarah considered the problem carefully, giving it a lot of time (two minutes) and then said, "We should ask the Little Man. If we tell mama or Auntie Mako, they will worry even more." And Sarah persuaded Zoë to come with her. She did not have to ask Zoë or Zara to keep it a secret.

The Founder, or the Little Man as most of the Chibi Sailors called him, had a place beneath the house, beneath even the operations center in the secret second basement. The elevator took a long time to get there, so they took the stairs, through a door that Kimi had found with her magic eye. It was a long way down the stairs, though, and it began to scare Deja, though of course instead of saying she was scared, she complained.

"This is a foolish idea, Chibi-Usa," said Deja. "We should have told my mother instead. She would know what to do."

"Your mother is worried about your grandmother and the baby coming," retorted Sarah. "And _don't _call me Chibi-Usa. I will let _okasan_ and Mamo-chan and the older _senshi_ call me that, but not _you, _you little . . ."

Ishtar spoke up. "Please, don't you start arguing now. I think this place is scary, too, Deja."

At last they came to the entrance to the place. It was a door, but Zara could not unlock it, even with the help of Kimi's eye. "I think it has a spell on it."

Zoë tried to step through, but she could not. "It must be magic . . . I can't go around it, either."

Lily Chiba simply walked up to the door and knocked. There were odd noises for awhile and then the door opened.

The little man did not look much like a wizard when he appeared. He was wearing a smelly sweatsuit and socks that did not match--and shoes, for that matter. He sighed, looking at them all. "Whose idea was this?"

"Chibi-Usa's, of course," smirked Deja.

"Of course . . . Zoë, it was you that tried to get through the door? Not Lily?"

Lily spoke up. "It isn't polite to barge in. Mama and papa taught me that. But Sarah did not ask me what we should try first."

Sarah did a double take, and turned to the youngest of her half-sister's half-sisters. "_You_ have powers now?"

"For awhile now." The precocious little mite, only four-and-a-half, transformed into a tiny sailor soldier with wings. "I can fly a little and I can go through things like mama." Then she transformed back. "Please don't tell mama, Sarah. Papa said not to tell yet."

The little man said, "Your papa is right. It would be better to wait until after the babies come, child." He patted Lily on the top of her head, and then moved on to Zoë, who was the tallest and oldest girl, actually older than Sarah. "Kimberly, do you see a sigil?"

Kimberly Chiba became Kimi Moon and opened her third eye. After a few moments, she said, "I can see something, Zoë. But I can't tell what it is. It might be a moon and something else."

The little man went to get one from among the many, many old books in his hideaway, found something in it, came back, and began working a spell. For a moment, a faint moon sign, larger than Sailor Moon's, appeared on Zoë's forehead. She also got the faint outline of something ringing the crown of her head, and ghostly wings.

Sarah said, "Zoë, you looked something like Aunt Nancy. Like a Moon Angel."

"That is not that surprising. You are, after all, not born of _this_ world, child." The little man closed his book, and took one of Zoe's hands . "I think you will need an aid like the _henshin_ wands the sailors of the first generation used to help them transform. At least until you get used to it."

"Artemis gave my mother hers," said Ishtar. "Could he help? You said he was coming."

"We will have his help," replied the little man, "And Luna's. But I am not sure when they will get here."

* * *

They did not have to wait long with their secrets. The day Usagi had her C-section, the other babies came: Rei's, Minako's, Naru's, Mako's . . .

It was the day of the first new moon of the new year.

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Family Neko**

**Highland Hospital, Oakland, California**

KIMI WAS THE FIRST to notice the strangers at the window of the nursery. One was a tall man with white hair, but not an old man, at least in appearance. He had a little girl with him, a little taller than Kimi, with light lavender hair. He was pointing out the babies, and Kimi heard him say, "That one is Mina-chan's." 

"I can't read the name. Can you, _otousan_?" 

Kimi was alone at the moment. Normally she was very reluctant to approach strangers, but a father and daughter seemed safe, and she was very curious about what they had said. She went up to them. "Who are you?" she asked. "Who are you to say 'Mina-chan?'" 

The man smiled. "An old friend. And who are you to Mina-chan? Are you her child too?" 

"Auntie Minako is my mother's friend." 

"I am Mr. Neko, and this is my daughter Diana. And _that _baby, the one next to Mina-chan's, is my new daughter. My wife wants to name her Celeste . . . and you are?" 

"Kimberly Chiba. Everyone calls me Kimi." She went to the window and pointed. "That one, and that one, are my new sisters, Ikuko and Juliette." 

"Ikuko?" asked the man. 

"Yes. After my grandma. But grandma has just had another baby. That one there," Kimi pointed. "Her name is Yoriko. So now I have an Auntie who is younger than me." 

"That's funny!" said the little girl. 

"So you are the daughter of _Usagi?_" asked the man. 

"Yes," answered Kimi. Noticing that Ishtar had come to join her, Kimi introduced her. 

"You look a lot alike," said the little girl. 

"You are twins?" asked the man, sounding more deeply surprised than his daughter. 

"Not exactly," explained Ishtar. Noticing that the man was looking at her very closely, and that his feelings were intense, Ishtar asked, "Who are you? Why do you want to know about us?" 

The man went down on one knee to speak to Ishtar. "I am Artemis, child . . . And I can see your sigil. You must be Mina-chan's." 

At that, Kimi opened her third eye for a moment, and saw the sigils on Artemis and Diana. 

Diana exclaimed, "You couldn't do _that_ before." 

"Before what?" asked Kimi, closing her Eye before any others might notice. 

"Before when you were . . ." Diana turned to her father, and asked, "Should I tell her about the time that was supposed to be?" 

"Let me ask . . . Kimi, are you the _oldest _child of Usagi and Mamoru?" 

"Yes, I am," said Kimi. 

"You feel all puzzled," said Ishtar, "Don't you?" 

"Yes," said Artemis. "I . . . I'm afraid I don't know much of what has gone on here since we left." 

Deja came up. "What are you talking about? Kimi-chan, Ishi-chan, you aren't supposed to talk to strangers, anyway." 

"It is all right," said Kimi. Switching to Japanese, she said. "This is Artemis and Diana. I saw their sigils." 

"And I see yours," said Artemis. "You are the firstborn of Mars, are you not?" 

Deja took a step back. "You shouldn't say things like that here, any of you. There _are_ people who speak Japanese." 

"A good point," said Artemis. "You have the good sense of your mother. And the _tact._" 

Deja boiled for a moment, but held her tongue. "Did you bring Luna?" 

Kimi pointed in the window. "Yes. She had a baby here too. See?" 

"There," said Diana, pointing. She drew close to the other girls and whispered, "Mama was in labor when we came through the gate. We had to come now or we would have had to wait for a long time." 

Deja squinted, then pulled the rather thick glasses she wore from her bag. "Oh, my. So she was born the same day as Tomiko and the others. This must mean something . . ." 

"All the others?" asked Diana. 

Deja explained. "My mother and all the Inner Senshi had babies today. And all of the Outer Senshi except Hotaru." 

"_All _of them?" exclaimed Artemis. "The Outers too?" 

"Yes. Michiru and Haruka are in France, and Setsuna is in Florida, but they had their babies today. This is the day of the new moon." 

Artemis got up, and began to study the rest of the babies. Diana, however, studied Kimi. "You look so _different_ than I thought you would." 

"Why do you say that?" asked Kimi. "What am I supposed to look like?" 

"Well, I thought your hair would be sort of pink." 

Kimi was about to say something, but Deja asserted herself. "Oh, _I _know what you think. You must be looking for Chibi-Usa. Do you have memories of your old life?" 

"Maybe . . . " Now Diana took a step back. "Some of it is scary." 

Ishtar stepped forward and reached out with her hands and her powers to comfort Diana. "They are only memories. Sarah has them, too." 

"Sarah?" asked Diana. 

"Sarah is my older sister. She has the memories of Chibi-Usa," said Kimi. "Some of them are scary, too." 

"_Very_ scary," said Ishtar. "Scarier than yours, I think. But Sarah-chan has learned to be brave. And I have learned, too. And if _I_ have learned, then you will learn. We will help you." 

"Yes," said Kimi. "We will help you." 

"And you will help my mother, Neko-san," said Ishtar. "I hope. She is very sad since Uncle Kevin died." 

Artemis got a puzzled look. "Kimi, you said you were the oldest, didn't you?" 

"I am the oldest of the children _okasan_ had with _otousan_. But Sarah's father was different." 

"Yes," said Deja. "Chibi-Usa's father never was Mamoru. My mother saw that as soon as Sarah was born." 

"But . . . " Artemis, for once, was at a loss for words. 

Ishtar said, "There are many more things that I think will surprise you, Neko-san." 

* * *

Usagi did not like to use her power to read thoughts on her friends, but she could not help but do it to Luna when they first met, after seeing her expression. "Yes, this is what has become of me. Far from the destiny you trained me for." 

"You are speaking the old Moon tongue." 

"I am?" Usagi remarked. "So. It has been some time since I spoke it . . . Venus can speak it well, and the Outers, of course . . . and Sarah, but she does not like to speak it. It brings up the memories." 

"Sarah?" 

"That is the name I gave my oldest daughter. You would know her as Chibi-Usa. She has the same soul, but Sarah does not like to remember too much of her old life . . . and I do not. But since you do not know of it, Luna, I will tell you." 

Usagi told the story of her first time in the world of the Grey Lady, and how Chibi-Usa had died, and how she came to be reborn as Sarah. "The Founder once said he thought she had done this all before. Perhaps he knows more. I have never been able to read the little man's thoughts, unless he wished to speak with me silently." 

"So Crystal Tokyo will never be?" 

"Not as it was. I certainly won't be its Queen." 

"You don't need to have legs to be a Queen." 

"No. But something I did when I was the Queen in the future that is now not to be brought great evil. The Founder thinks I could do even worse if I do it again." 

Luna shook her head, and held her infant closer. "The future is certainly different than what I expected it to be," she said, looking at Usagi's infants. "They will be _senshi_, too. And powerful." 

"Why were there so few _senshi_ in the time of the Moon Kingdom?" 

"Oh, there were _many _soldiers. Very few people of the Moon Kingdom did not have some kind of useful power. But during the reigns of the last three Serenities before your mother, we fought many wars. Most of our most powerful families died out. You do not remember this from your life as the Moon Princess?" 

"The Moon Princess was an even poorer student than I," said Usagi. "History bored her. _That_ I remember." 

Luna carefully set Celeste down in her basinet. "You are so changed from when I knew you . . ." 

"Go on about the _senshi_ of the Moon Kingdom." 

"They were the best from each world," said Luna. "When my Serenity first took the throne, she proposed that the other worlds recreate their royal houses by selecting the best people. But when they recreated their royal houses, the families produced only one child each. They were much more powerful than the others, but there was only one from each planet." 

"But nine or ten soldiers are not an army," said Usagi. "Minako keeps saying that, and things like it." 

"She was not only a soldier; she was the General. The one in charge of our military forces. Strange that Minako should have her memories and powers; the General did not seem much like Mina-chan." 

"But not strange that the Moon Princess became part of me," said Usagi. "She was a silly girl, the Princess." 

"But she had a good heart," said Luna. "A good Queen must have that. No other ability will matter without it." 

"Thank you, Luna," said Usagi. "But I am not sure I have such a heart." She told Luna of the other enemies she had fought, and of the men she had hunted and killed. "When I was shot, I was killing some boys. Boys with guns trying to kill, who probably had already killed, but boys . . . Perhaps that is why my magic did not protect me." Usagi lowered her head. "The little man warned me, Mako and Minako tried to make me stay home that night, but I did not listen. I thought I was giving up Mamoru to Gin-chan forever. It was like dying . . . I was very lucky to live." Usagi looked up, tears falling freely down her cheek, but without a sob; the drops might have been rain, so natural they appeared, so perfectly resigned was Usagi to their fall. Looking at Luna, she asked, "Do you think I still have a good heart? With all that I have done?" 

Luna was quiet for a long moment. "You have done things I would not have allowed you to do, if I were still your Guardian. But they bother you. If you did not have a good heart, they would not." 

Usagi smiled for a moment. "Thank you, Luna." Then she looked over at her babies. "I asked Kimi if she could see their sigils. She said she could not make them out yet, but I know she was lying. You can see them, can you not? Please, I do not want to read your thoughts, but this is important." 

Luna paused a long time before answering. She went over to the basinets where the twins lay sleeping. After another wait, she said, "Chibi Ikuko's sigil is three moons. Juliette has four." 

"Have you seen them before?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

Luna said carefully, "The four moons were used by several famous people over our history." 

Usagi picked up a pad and pencil, and drew on it. "Do the three moons look like this?" 

"Yes, something like that." 

Usagi sighed. "Then you suspect what I do." 

"Princess, should I tell anyone?" 

"I am plain Usagi now. Your friend . . . Artemis, of course; he can read sigils. But no one else for now." 

"Does Kimi know? Artemis told me she can also read sigils." 

"Probably. She can keep her thoughts from me better than Sarah." Usagi shook her head. "I will tell her enough so that she does not get the wrong idea." 

"Having the powers does not mean having the memories," said Luna. "Or the soul, or even part of it." She came to Usagi's bed, sat on it, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "It must be for a reason, my Lady." 

"Yes . . . they will be needed. But not until they grow up, I hope." Usagi pushed herself into a more comfortable position. "I am becoming as big a worrier as _otousan_. Let's talk about something else. Have you been living as a human all the time since you left?" 

"Yes. After the first year, I could not transform into a cat. Or even use illusion to appear as one. That is what we were doing most of the time, you know, Artemis and I." 

"Why did you not tell me?" 

"You had enough to worry about. And, of course, it would have been _especially_ delicate for Artemis. It was better for everyone to believe we were only cats. It made our enemies more confident than they should have been." 

Usagi wrinkled her brow. "But Diana . . . She was always on Chibi-Usa's head. She must have been a kitten, most of the time." 

Luna shrugged. "That Diana was much like Chibi-Usa; she would not tell us much of the future. Our Diana can assume kitten form for a few minutes a day. Perhaps she will get better at it . . . or perhaps she will lose that power. Only a few of our people could ever do that." Luna sighed. "I hope we have become human enough for Diana and Celeste to find husbands and have children someday, if that is their wish. We may be the last of our people. Our homeworld was destroyed long ago." 

"Was not Tin Nyanko one of your people?" 

"Yes. I think she must have been from a lost colony. But that world was destroyed by Galaxia, too." 

"It may not have been in this timeline," said Usagi. "Galaxia could travel through the Universes much more freely than our other enemies. I saw _thousands_ of starseeds in her cache, each of them from the most powerful being of a world. She could even travel forward and back in time. The Founder once told Naru that his Company had helped some of your people flee from Galaxia's wars." 

"I do not know that much of the Founder's business," said Luna. 

Usagi shrugged. "Does _anyone?_" She shifted again, and asked, "Could you move my legs?" Usagi instructed Luna how she wanted them placed. 

"Is that all right?" 

"I think so . . . So, where have you been?" 

"Several places . . . but I am glad we came here now! The last world we were on hasn't discovered anasthetics yet, and we couldn't risk hiring a midwitch." 

"Why?" 

"They are very intolerant of shapeshifters, at least the people we were living among. What if my baby were born in kitten form, like Diana was?" 

"Well, that could be a problem here, too . . . take a look at your daughter." 

The baby was the same size, but now had catlike features including whiskers and a coat of fur--black on one side of her body, white on the other. 

* * *

Next: Mika's news for Shingo triggers a spectacular Angel Incident. And Jack Crawford looks into reports of "djinn" amongst the fighting in the Mideast. 

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	2. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Two**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Mika's Woe**

**Cambridge, Massachusetts**

MIKA KAYAMA had always thought herself a sensible girl. With her grades, she could easily have gone to Tokyo University, or one of the other prestigious Japanese colleges. She was also proud to be a Japanese, even if she was one of those funny folks who had used to almost all live in the North, the ones that looked almost like _gaijin._ But she was too sensible to stay in Japan, or even go to college there, because as a woman in a male preserve like Engineering, she simply wouldn't get as far as she could overseas. Once she had established her reputation, she would return to Japan, and perhaps do her part to change tradition, in this one place. 

What particularly fascinated her was biomechanics and bioelectronics. Maybe it was her old fascination with dolls that lead her to it. She wanted to build machines that could reproduce human or animal behavior better than had been done before--and perhaps provide prosthetic devices that were as good or even _better_ that the limbs they had replaced. Mika remembered her grandfather and two great uncles, men who had been maimed in the Pacific War. When Mika pictured them trying to get along with their clumsy artifical limbs, she wondered why there wasn't anything _better._

For all the promises--the famous "Boston Arm" of the Seventies, and the like--nothing much had really changed since then. In fact, the Boston Arm program was abandoned before Mika was even born. 

Her researches in high school had uncovered only one researcher who had seemed to be going beyond that failed program, an obscure man named Professor Tomoe Souichi. But after a laboratory explosion, he had withdrawn from the field, and started a special school that was rumored to be the headquarters of a cult. Another explosion, and fires from it, had destroyed most of that school, and it had been closed afterward. 

Mika had assumed that was the end of Professor Tomoe. However, one night, with a lot on her mind, and her new American study partner fast asleep, she decided to take another look. She decided to look for the professor's obituary--perhaps he was alive. 

But he wasn't, it turned out. Tomoe had been dead for a long time, for ten years, though he had lived for almost two years since his special school had closed. The obituary mentioned very little about his work, but it did give Mika a fact she had not suspected before: Professor Tomoe was survived by one child, a daughter, Hotaru. 

_Hotaru,_ Mika thought. Another irony. The same name as Shingo's wife. 

The sensible girl woke her study mate and told her it was time for her to go back to her room. Once Rachel was gone, Mika went to bed herself. But it took her a long time to get to sleep. She thought about Shingo's Hotaru, who had faced the decision Mika was facing now. But not quite the _same_ decision, because Shingo had not had a wife and a child then. 

* * *

When Mika asked for a meeting at a quiet place off-campus, Shingo took her to a cafe on the Boston side of the Charles, explaining that they had wonderful tarts. He was right. "How did you ever find this place?" asked Mika, finishing her second, feeling far removed from care, for just the moment. 

Shingo said, "Hotaru suggested I look for it. She remembers it from when she was very small. Her mother and father brought her here. I was surprised to find it still here." 

"Yes. There have been many changes." Mika was brought back to the reason she had come to this place. _Why did he chose a place that is special to Hotaru? _"Change is not always good, is it?" 

"No, Mika-chan, I suppose it is not." He took a last contemplative sip of his coffee, and said, "There has surely been a big change between us. Is that why we are here?" 

"Yes, Shingo-chan." Mika looked back over her shoulder. They had taken a table outside, the only ones to brave the cool evening. She saw the campus of MIT across the river, a boat moving up the Charles, and a car stopped just across the street. She noticed the driver was looking at her. The car moved on, and she put it from her mind. "I am pregnant." 

"Pregnant? Are you sure?" 

"Yes." She turned back to Shingo, and saw that he had bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "Aren't you going to ask if I am going to have the baby?" 

"No," he said, without looking up. "I know you. If you weren't sure you were not going to have it, you would not have told me." 

Mika reached across the tiny table to take Shingo's hands. "It is not your fault. You slipped once. Just once." 

Shingo looked up at her. "We made love only once for real, but I have made love to you many times in my mind." He shook his head. "I cannot go on like this. You are the one I love." 

Mika drew back. "Shingo! You love _Hotaru_, and she is your _wife!_" 

"But I love you, Mika. I think I always have . . . " 

Perhaps because Shingo was beginning to lose control, Mika clamped down on her own turbulant emotions. "Shingo, you love _Hotaru._ I have seen you together. You cannot tell me that you do not love her." 

"Yes. But I love you . . . If you are going to have my child anyway, then--" 

Mika did not let him finish. "Then I am going to have your child, and we will explain it to our families. But not _now,_ Shingo-chan." She rose, and kissed him on his brow. "I hope Hotaru will forgive me. But I would not forgive myself if I let you do something even more foolish now." 

Then Mika found herself running from the cafe before Shingo could follow and somehow thwart her resolve again. And that is when she noticed that the strange car, with the strange man, was pulling in ahead . . . 

* * *

**Chapter 7: Little Moons**

**Kensington, California**

Shingo's call came in just after Sarah had returned from school. Olivia picked up, but Chibi-Usa started listening in as soon as she heard Olivia scream. Sarah cut in and got the most important facts: Mika had been taken only a few minutes before, and Shingo had gotten a look at the car. Before Olivia could protest, Chibi Moon was off. 

Her mother came home just a few minutes later, but it took her an hour to get enough _senshi_ together to teleport to Boston. 

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts**

Chibi Moon did have a good idea of what the car looked like, but unfortunately it was a commonplace car--by the time the other _senshi_ started arriving, she had stopped five, and created gridlock through much of the Boston Metropolitan Area. 

Sailor Venus was much the general when she arrived. She made a hard choice. She sent the fastest chibi sailors out to search the three main routes out of town: Pleione and Deja to the north, Zoe and Zara to the south, and Kimi Moon to the east, with Hotaru--Not as fast as Kimi, but faster than Venus, Mars, and of course Jupiter. She kept Chibi Moon with her central group, despite her great speed and firepower, because she needed to know where Chibi Moon had searched. Her final orders to the six she sent out were, "Don't fight if you can avoid it. Call for help if you have any trouble." 

* * *

Kayama Mika was feeling horribly scared by that time, but she was beyond even Chibi Venus' range. She was not even in the same car. 

The man who had taken her was smart. He'd stolen the car he'd used to stalk, and left it in to a parking garage only a few blocks from MIT. He might have stopped to enjoy his catch earlier, but the sight of an angel shooting violet bolts made him decide to move to a safer place, further away. 

He would have turned off the interstate in one more exit if he hadn't been caught in traffic. A jacknifed big rig. And then he might have been all right, if he hadn't spotted a Massachusetts State Cop ahead that he thought he recognized--one that had stopped him earlier in the day. 

But all was not lost. He was just past an off-ramp--there was enough room on the shoulder to back up and get off. The girl was beginning to bang around in the lockbox . . . He backed up in one smooth move, and was on the exit ramp. Other people got the same idea, so the cops wouldn't know who to chase. 

This good luck was balanced out by the fact that Kimi Moon noticed the unusual motion from ten miles away. She zeroed in, and saw a woman locked away. She flew ahead of Saturn, not wanting to lose sight of the pickup for a second. 

The man who had taken Mika did not drive that far after he got off the interstate. He found an orchard. A quick snip with bolt cutters, and he was through the gate, with less than a minute of delay. Another two minutes, and he was parked amid the deserted orchard. 

He was getting too excited; trying to jump up in the bed, he fell, hurting his knees and dropping the keys. He had to fumble around in the dark, but fortunately, they had fallen inside the truck bed. The girl was screaming and banging the box frantically now. He banged on the top, and kicked the sides. It wouldn't make any difference. Then he found the lock, and was about to put in the right key when he heard the sound of wings. He was buffeted, and dropped the keys again. He batted at whatever it was. It screamed--like a little girl. Suddenly he was dazzled by a bright light in his face. 

He pulled out his knife and slashed. There was another scream, of pain--he'd struck something. The light was gone, but the flash had ruined his night vision. He heard the wings again, and he lunged toward the sound--and fell over the side of the bed. That hurt, but he still had the knife--a "trench knife" with brass knuckles built into the grip guard, so it was all but impossible to lose in a fight. And he was in a fight. He slashed the knife around in the air above him before he got up. 

He heard keys jingling. He could see just enough to make out the side of the truck now. He stabbed over it, and was rewarded with another scream, and the feeling of a more solid strike. But he was overbalanced, and fell; whatever it was escaped again. But there was another flash of light, not directly in his face. He was able to make out a winged form--he was fighting some kind of angel girl, like in the stories. 

He had noticed she had been trying to free the girl in the lockbox. He pulled himself up over the side back into the bed, stood up, and yelled, "Come and get her, if you can!" He was excited and angry--and the angel girl was not very big; he'd seen that much, and heard her voice. 

The angel girl shined the light in his eyes again, but he reached up and grabbed her, pulled her out of the air. He stabbed and slashed as he struggled with her, finally pinning the angel girl under his knees. He changed the grip on his knife, so that he could stab down, and then raised his knife high to finish off the little pest--and a cold chill bit his upraised arm. Then he felt warm drops falling on his face. He brought the arm down, but didn't feel the knife biting. In fact, against the light coming from the angel girl's head, he didn't see the knife--or his hand. 

He didn't have time to really come to terms with this, because his head came off next, under the second sweep of Saturn's glaive. She sliced the lock off the lockbox, and then dropped the glaive to tend to Kimi. 

* * *

Mika kicked open the lid. She was still bound up, though she had managed to work loose of the tape over her mouth. 

"Help me!" Mika screamed again. 

"Stay still, you are safe now!" shouted a half-familiar voice. "You too, stay still, while I try to fix you." 

"Who are you? Help me!" 

"Mika, I can't help you yet!" 

Mika recognized the voice. "Hotaru? What are _you_ doing here?" 

"Please, just be still!" 

"Am I going to die?" asked a tiny voice. "I can't see with my eye." 

"No, but you are hurt badly . . . I must call the others . . . Sailor Venus! Come, all of you! We have found Mika, but Kimi Moon is hurt. I cannot heal her completely." 

Mika kept asking what was happening in the next minutes, until finally someone helped her up. They didn't take the tape off her eyes, though--the person lifted her out of the box and carried her a little ways until she felt bodies all around her. Then she suddenly felt much warmer, and the air had a different smell. 

Two women's voices keened, and one said, "Kimi-chan! Oh no!" 

_Kimi-chan._ Shingo's niece. 

There were many voices all together after that. Finally, when all the other voices were gone, someone said, "Sit still," and pulled the tape off her eyes. Then she realized it was Hotaru, Shingo's wife. Only it was not _just_ Hotaru--it was Sailor Saturn. Saturn picked up her glaive, brought up the blade, and moved it toward Mika. 

"Hold still, I am not going to hurt you. I am cutting the tape . . . there. Now your legs . . . You are free." She withdrew the glaive, stood up, and transformed, becoming the delicate girl who had stolen Shingo away from Mika. "Follow me." 

"Where are we?" 

"At my home," answered Hotaru. "I am going up to check on Rhea, and help with the other children." 

"What happened? What happened to Kimi?" 

"Kimi-chan is a _senshi_, but she is not a very good fighter yet. She fought the man who put you in the box, and he hurt her quite badly. I have some ability to heal, but it was not enough to fix everything the man did to her." 

"What happened to that man?" 

"I killed him," Hotaru said, as they got into an elevator. 

Mika broke down crying, and embraced Hotaru. "I am sorry! You have saved me, and I . . ." 

"Shingo told me." 

"Told you? . . . How much did he tell you?" 

"Everything important," said Shingo's wife.

That brought on a fresh stream of tears. "I owe you my life! And Kimi--will she be all right?" 

Hotaru said, "I do not know. I am not a doctor. Maybe I will become one someday, when my daughter is a little older." 

"Oh . . . This is all because of me!" Mika exclaimed.

Hotaru said calmly, "The man would have found another victim. We would not have known in time to save her." 

"No, I mean Kimi . . . I am so sorry . . . " 

The elevator doors opened, and a tiny woman handed Hotaru a crying baby. Mika watched Hotaru comfort her child, and tried to avoid the hostile looks of the small woman. _She knows . . ._

It was only then that Mika finally realized that "home" for Shingo's wife meant _California_. She recognized the place she was now in from some of Shingo's photographs. 

* * *

**Chapter 8: Mika and the Senshi**

**Kensington, California**

MIKA WOKE UP and panicked for a moment, until she remembered where she was, and why she was in the unfamiliar room. The memory of how and why was not comforting, so Mika focused on the room awhile, to help herself really believe that she was safe, and far from the horrible things that had happened. The room had pictures of old airplanes she hadn't noticed much when Hotaru had led her there. Now Mika remembered that Hotaru had told her it had been "Mama Setsuna's" room. 

Mika also remembered that she was wearing pajamas borrowed from Hotaru. And that reminded her of what else she had borrowed from Hotaru: Shingo. 

* * *

The big house was not empty; Mika could hear people sleeping. The first person she found up was a little girl praying at the house shrine, When the girl turned spoke to her, she was startled. "Kimi? I thought you were hurt." 

"I am Ishtar," said the little girl. "Kimi is in the hospital now." 

Mika said, "Oh . . . I am sorry, but you look and sound like Kimi." 

Ishtar said, "Yes. We are sisters. Mamoru is our father." 

Mika said, "Yes . . . I remember, Shingo told me that, I should have remembered." 

"That is all right," the little girl replied. "You have had a scary thing happen to you. It was not your fault." 

"Not my fault . . ." 

"It is not your fault Kimi-chan was hurt." Mika now remembered that Ishtar was older than she looked, but she seemed even older than she was to Mika, especially with her next words. "I know you will be having Uncle Shingo's love-child. Do not feel so bad about that. I am a love-child, and so is _okasan_." 

Mika said, "But I have shamed myself. And I have hurt Shingo's wife so much." 

Ishtar said, "You have hurt Hotaru. And I think probably Shingo too. But you love Shingo so strongly. Hotaru will forgive you, because of that." 

When they were alone, Mika told Shingo's wife what Ishtar had said. Hotaru replied, "Ishtar is exactly right. I can forgive you, because you love Shingo." 

"But I shouldn't have," protested Mika.

Hotaru said, "But you did . . . And so did Shingo. He would not have slept with you if he did not have a special love for you. I saw that this might happen long ago, Mika." 

"With your powers?" 

"No, I don't think so . . . I saw because I know Shingo. You knew him first, but I have been with him most of his life." She glanced down at Rhea, at her breast. "I could not help myself. That is why I have Rhea here. And Rhea is why you had Shingo to yourself long enough for him to realize he has always loved you." Holding Rhea a little closer yet, Hotaru looked back up at Mika, and added, "If your child is a girl, she will almost certainly be a sailor fighter someday." 

Mika said, "But I am no _senshi!_ And Shingo--" 

Hotaru said quietly, "My Rhea will be a _senshi_, we are already certain of that. And Shingo is Usagi's brother." 

"Usagi? Usagi is a _senshi?_" 

"Usagi is the greatest of us all," said Hotaru, rising to leave. "Usagi is Sailor Moon." 

Mika sat by herself, absorbing these new shocks. After some time, Hotaru returned, with a now-sleeping Rhea. "This is the forgetting powder," she said, setting down a tiny phial in front of Mika, next to her tea. "If you take it, you should forget everything that has happened for the last few days. At least for awhile. Maybe forever." 

Mika picked it up, and looked at it. "Where does it come from?" 

"I cannot tell you. It is safe, though. It has been used for a long time, in other places." 

Mika continued to hold the phial, but set down her hand. "I would rather not forget that you saved me." 

"And Kimi-chan," said Hotaru.

"Yes . . . " Mika stopped to dab her cheeks. "Is she really going to be all right?" 

"Chiba-san says so," answered Hotaru. "But she will be in the hospital for a long time." Hotaru sat down, this time next to Mika rather than across the table. She put a hand out to touch Mika's shoulder. "You would also forget what that terrible man did to you." 

Mika shook her head. "I would rather remember . . . I will take this if you insist, but I want to remember. If I forget what you did for me, I might try to take Shingo away from you." 

Hotaru gently took the phial from Mika's hand. "You do not have to, then. But you will have to tell the police you have forgotten everything." 

Mika said, "Yes, I suppose . . . But I will do that, to keep you safe." 

Hotaru said, "To keep you safe, too . . . from being locked up with crazy people, if you tell the police the truth. Usagi could tell you stories about that." 

"Usagi?" 

Hotaru said, "Yes . . . But do not ask of this for a long time. In fact, it would be better you did not see much of her, until she wants to see you, I think." 

"Where is she?" asked Mika.

Hotaru said, "Sleeping. She will be going back to the hospital soon after she gets up." 

Mika finished her cup of tea, and got up to get another. She asked if Hotaru would care for some. She did, and showed her where her cup was. Returning, looking for _something_ to talk about besides all the grief she had brought to Shingo's family, Mika asked, "Were you going to go to MIT, before you knew the baby was coming?" 

Hotaru said, "No. I was going to go to Harvard." 

"Harvard admitted you, but not MIT?" 

"Oh, I could have gone, but I chose Harvard. I wanted to do my minor in History, and MIT is not as suitable for that. Besides, my father went to Harvard." 

"Your father?" asked Mika. One of the few facts she knew for certain was that the mysterious Professor Tomoe had degrees from Harvard. "Was your father Tomoe Souichi?" 

"Yes," answered Hotaru. "How do you know of him?" 

Mika said "I wanted to know more about his work. About cybernetic prosthetics. Do you know anything of it? You would have been very young--" 

"I know of it," said Hotaru, cutting Mika off. "It ended badly." And that is all that Hotaru would say of it. 

* * *

Mika took Hotaru's advice and avoided Usagi. That was easy enough, because Usagi spent every possible moment at the hospital. 

* * *

Mika decided that Dr. Han might be good to talk to about her situation. "You live here, with Dr. Chiba and Usagi. How do you all get along?" 

"Carefully," remarked Dr. Han, making an American-style joke that Mika did not understand. But Ginger Han was perceptive enough to see this, and became more serious. "Sometimes I think it would be better to move away. But Lily loves her father, and he loves her, very much. And it is best for us to work together. I could not use my special power very much if I did not have Mamoru and my other friends here to help me." 

"That is important for you," said Mika, "But I have no powers." 

Dr Han waited a moment before continuing. "Are you afraid you will do the wrong thing with Shingo?" 

Mika said, "Yes . . . Aren't you afraid that you will do the wrong thing with Dr. Chiba?" 

"No," answered Ginger Han. "Now that he has Usagi, Mamoru would never make love to someone else. He is not like that." 

"But Shingo is not Mamoru," said Mika.

Dr. Han said, "No, he is not. But I did not say that Mamoru does not still love me, or his other women. He does. But it is important to him to be faithful. Shingo is much like him in that way." Dr. Han took her hand. "Mamoru did slip once that I know of. He had been with Minako for a long time when he made love to Usagi. That is how Kimi-chan came to be. Mamoru did not make love to another woman for a long time after that. We dated for a year before we made love. I could have married him. But I saw he belonged with Usagi. And if you see that Shingo belongs with Hotaru, you should make the same decision." 

Despite herself, Mika blurted, "But what if he belongs with me?" 

Ginger Han sighed. "You should talk to Ms. Hino. She has insights about these things. And you should be seeing a lawyer, anyway; you are going to be seeing a lot of police soon enough." 

* * *

Catching Ms. Hino alone was easier than the others, because she had her own home, much smaller than the mansion, but still large by Japanese standards. It was only a short walk from the mansion. 

Mika actually remembered Hino Rei from her childhood, and was uncomfortable going to face a woman who was known for her quick, sharp judgments about people. But she was surprised by the woman she found. 

Hino-san divined for Mika in her traditional way, through flames and the flow of smoke from incense. Finally she said, "Your child will be a _senshi._" 

"What of Shingo?" asked Mika. "And Hotaru?" 

"There are many paths for the three of you. But all of them bring you together, in some way." Hino-san looked away from the fire, into Mika's eyes. "You will have to work out which path you will take with Shingo and Hotaru." 

"Ne-e-eh," groaned Mika. "I have shamed myself. I did not think I would ever do something so foolish. And so cruel and selfish. What must you think of me? You are the most sensible friend of Usagi that I remember." 

"I have not been all that sensible, Kayama-san," said Hino-san. "And not that kind. I was very thoughtless to Yuuichirou for many years before I became his wife. I lost him. And then to get him back, I stole him from a girl he was going to marry. Deja, my oldest, is really our love-child." 

Mika said, "But your husband did not have a wife and a child, did he?" 

"No," said Hino-san. "But he gave his promise and then he broke it for my sake. And I cannot believe that Hara-san would not be having a happier life if my Yuuichirou was her husband." Hino-san shook her head. "I think it is time to talk about another problem, Kayama-san. The police in Massachusetts are still looking for you. Some of them think Shingo-kun made you disappear. Since you did not take the forgetting powder, you are going to have to tell them a story . . . "

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Djinn**

JACK CRAWFORD had puzzled over the mystery of the Angel Girls for more years than he had ever worked on any other possible story. He had seen them in action personally twice, once during the famous fight at Lake Merritt in Oakland, California and he had seen one kill an assassin fleeing Highland Hospital later in that same city. He'd even had some inside information from a contact inside the National Security Agency about the very secret investigations--and cover-ups--of incidents involving alleged magic girls for more than a decade. But the answer eluded him. All he was sure of was that at least some of the magic girl incidents had been real, and that they seemed to have a connection with some rather reclusive Japanese people who'd come to live in his home, the San Francisco Bay area. 

His latest distraction had been a war, or rather, a series of wars. Big news, and bigger issues than who was going to be the top man in the California drug gangs, or sightings of angels--more common than flying saucers, of late. The artificial borders of the Middle East, mostly set nearly a century ago at the end of what had been called the Great War, had now been mostly abolished by what was now called the Great Mideast War. It had begun when the House of Saud had started infighting over the succession to the throne, and its larger neighbors had decided to take advantage. The war had got out of hand, as wars are likely to do. While a NATO/UN force contented itself with protecting what was _really _important--the Gulf oilfields--the parties proceeded to cross and double-cross one another, using all the deadly toys they had bought with their oil money instead of better lives for their people. A few nukes here, some anthrax there, and liberal applications of war gasses upon civilians, and they came apart--none of them were really homogenous, and once trust or fear of the central governments had gone, ethnic groups had grabbed for what they could get. Iraq shrank drastically; Assyria, Media and Sumeria reappeared on maps, at least in the English versions. Palestine, with Israeli connivance, swallowed all of Jordan and bits of Syria and Arabia. Driven from Jordan, the Sherifian dynasty returned to Mecca. A nominal accommodation was made with their old rivals by marrying the surviving Crown Prince to a Saudi princess. Control of the oil fields was not part of her dowry; that was to be administered by a permanent UN agency. 

The Northern Powers (NATO, Russia, and Japan, as they were first called at this time) did not get away entirely unscathed. The United States, in particular, got an unpleasant shock when a small flock of cruise missiles were launched from a nondescript container ship off the East Coast. The White House air defenses stopped one, but, embarrassingly, the Pentagon was damaged by another one. Others hit CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia; the UN building in New York; and the USS _Theodore Roosevelt,_ refitting at Newport News, Virginia. Five others malfunctioned, but it was stunning proof that the United States could be the target as well as the launcher of these wonder weapons, no longer beyond the reach of hostile nations. 

Jack Crawford wrote and reported all these things--the War was his first big TV exposure, and he found that he could not resist wanting more. But mostly he poked around looking for "small" stories: A refugee family scattered to five different nations; the commander of a Marine battalion arranging a brief "presence" at his daughter's wedding through teleconferencing; a squabble between archeologists and the families of soldiers buried at a dig which had became a part of a battlefield. And, inevitably, stories of angels--or friendly _djinn_, as the traditions of these people would have them . . . 

* * *

**Southeastern Iraq **

Ali stopped. "Listen." 

His mother Nur hushed Taloob in her arms, and then whispered, "What do you hear?" 

"Helicopters . . . we must get high, if they have the gas." There was nothing like a mountain and very few hills in their marshy homeland near the mouths of the Tigris and Euphrates. There was the stump of a microwave relay tower perhaps 300 meters away; it _might_ be high enough. 

Ali's sharp hearing bought his family a head start, but Nur was very short, and very plump, and had Taloob to carry, and soon they were behind all the others, except for a small knot of women they passed going the _other _way. Nur was nearing the end of her strength, and she could people swarming over the broken tower, like ants. She had no breath to warn them, but Ali had. He cried out, "No, ladies, you are going the wrong way!" 

Things _cracked_ and _whined _overhead, and some of the figures fell off the tower ahead. The few fighters among the crowd returned a ragged, futile volley. Nur dropped to the ground, covered Taloob, and prayed. Then she looked back, hoping that the helicopters would pass over without noticing them, hoping they did not have the gas. 

The women who had passed her were still there. They threw off their robes; she could see this in the bright moonlight. They were wearing very little, she saw. They shouted in some language she had never heard before. And then they threw bolts of colored fire at the helicopters. 

Allah in his mercy had sent _djinn_ to save them. 

None of the helicopters fell from the sky. Nur could not see them, except for a second when the colored fire passed them. They shot rockets; more colored fire knocked many of these from the sky. But not all; Nur saw some streak past her, heard explosions behind her, and then many screams. "It is the gas!" someone gargled. 

Two _djinn _appeared overhead, shouting in the same strange language, and then one shouted in a language she recognized but did not understand--English. That one threw fireballs brighter than the Sun, and several helicopters fell in orange pyres. Then a cold, cold mist fell upon Nur, and blotted out the sky. 

After a few moments, too terrified to move, Nur heard her son Ali call out, "Here, this is my mother and my brother!" 

She looked up. Ali and a woman _djinn _were bent over her. The _djinn_ had an electric torch. She handed it to Ali, and said to Nur, "Are you well?" She was speaking a very educated Arabic. 

"I think so, Madame Djinn." 

"Your baby looks well . . . I gave your daughter the antidote, so she should get better." The _djinn_ was wearing a greenish glass over her eyes; it glowed, and there was writing and pictures which kept changing. 

"Fatima?" 

"She breathed some of the gas," said Ali. 

"I am afraid I was too late for most of the others," said the _djinn._ "We have called for help. The next helicopters will bring help." 

The other _djinn _drew near. Nur recognized the voice of the one who had thrown the fireballs that had destroyed the enemy helicopters, although she did not understand what she was saying. The _djinn_ who could speak Arabic exchanged words with the others, mostly with the powerful one--a girl, really, but with a fierce appearance, festooned with jeweled-skulls like a grim goddess in one of the oldest stories. The kindly one said, "No one will attack you before help comes. The little moon promises that . . . " 

The djinn stayed until American helicopters came, with help. The kindly one treated the survivors as if she was a doctor. 

Later on, Ali explained to Nur that what the skull-wearing _djinn_ had said was "I will send those fornicators of their own mothers to Hell if they return." 

* * *

**Refugee Center, Northern Kuwait**  
Five Days Later 

Ali explained, "The one with the skulls spoke English sometimes. She always spoke it when she cursed, I think." 

"Was there another smaller one who stayed close to her?" Jack Crawford asked. 

Ali said, "No. No, she was the shortest of the _djinn_ that we saw, I think. I was as close to them as I am to you. Why do you ask this?" 

"I saw her once, with a smaller one," Crawford remarked.

"You saw her?" 

"Yes, with a smaller one . . . a man named Jean Sauvage took a famous picture of them." 

Unfortunately, the videotape from this interview was recorded over. Only Jack Crawford knew it was deliberate. Because, while talking to this family, survivors of the final gas attack in Sumeria, the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. He did not tell the bright Sumerian youth Ali that he had also seen the kindly _djinn_ before, killing an assassin, and then examining one of his victims, just as if she were a doctor . . . which she was. 

* * *

Highland Hospital, Oakland, California  
One Week Later 

Jack Crawford did not believe the "angels" were divine; he never had. But he did believe there was something that twisted their fates together. For why else when he came to find Dr. Mizuno did he find her in the room of a young girl, along with a petite teenager, with strawberry-blond hair, and a voice that millions had heard from Jean Sauvage's tape. The same voice; not even much lower in pitch. And the slight girl with all the tubes in her--when she spoke, he knew that voice, too. 

And then the strawberry blond turned suddenly to stare him in the eyes, before he had said a word. Jack Crawford felt a chill, because this one, this mischievous ingenue who loved water fights like the one Jack had seen at Waikiki by chance--this one was perhaps the most dangerous one of them all. 

"You know about us," she said, in English, very quietly. 

Dr Mizuno, who had been reading from a Japanese book to the patient, looked up. "Chibi-Usa? What do you mean?" 

Crawford felt sensations he did not know he could feel, but he also felt satisfaction. _I was right,_ he thought. Then he stepped all the way inside, closing the door behind him. "She means I know about you, Dr. Mizuno. I know that you and this girl--" 

"We are sisters," said the one who had probably knocked down five helicopters and Iraq's last hope of holding its Gulf oilfields. 

"I know it was you two in the Sauvage video. And it was you, Dr. Mizuno, here at Highland the night the Jones' were murdered. And in Chicago, I think, the day of the fight at Lake Merritt. And both of you together, saving those refugees from the gas attack two weeks ago. And if I'm not mistaken, it was you in Boston about a month ago . . . are you trying to do something to me now? I feel strange feelings." 

"She is reading your thoughts," said the injured one. 

"You must have some Talent, to feel it," said Dr. Mizuno. 

"Some," said the most dangerous one. "I know you don't want to report what you know. Why? I can't read as well as Mom, but I can tell if you are telling the truth." 

He looked at Dr. Mizuno in preference to the strawberry blond. "I'm not sure. I don't want to screw up your life, Dr. Mizuno. Or Kev Jones' widow's--she was the first one at the lake. You don't look the same when you're angels, but you are not _that_ different . . . especially the voices. I was closest to her. I don't know who you two are--wait, is your mother Mrs. Chiba?" _That day at Waikiki, Mrs. Chiba had been with Dr. Mizuno, and Kevin Jones and his wife . . ._

"Yes," said the strawberry blond. "She is our mother." 

Dr. Mizuno rose, and asked, "Why are you telling us all this?" 

Crawford shrugged. "I wanted to be sure I was right. Also, I know the government is looking for you. Maybe they've already found you. I used to have a contact, but he's gone cold on me." He looked down at the injured girl. "How did you get in this mess?" 

"I was trying to help someone. A friend. I can fly faster than most of the others. But I can't fight very good. Very well. The man hurt me before Saturn-san could catch up." 

"You saved Mika, Kimi," said the big sister, with the first hint of weakness in her voice. 

"You still shouldn't talk too much, Kimi-chan," said Dr. Mizuno. 

"I'm sorry," said Crawford, meaning it. Turning to the strawberry sister, he asked, "Boston, right? Another creep with his head cut off, like Chicago.?" 

She nodded. "It would not have happened if I had been with Kimi." 

"It was not your fault," said Dr. Mizuno. "I think if you had not scared him, that man would have killed Mika before anyone could find her." 

"Well, there's another one I won't buy flowers for," remarked Crawford. "You ladies have put a dent in the creep population." 

Then the tough little one surprised him. "I should not have destroyed so many of the helicopters. I could hear the last thoughts of some of the men on them." 

"It was war," said Crawford, who had come to appreciate war for what it really was. 

"Yes. I hate war." 

Everyone was quiet for what seemed a long while, but was actually only seconds. Then Dr. Mizuno said something in Japanese. She turned back to Crawford, and after another moment, said, "I told her she is not the only one who gets angry. I did not need to kill that one running away from the hospital. I could have knocked his gun away. But I saw what he had done to Minako's husband and his family. If there had been a hundred of them, I think I would have killed them all." 

* * *

Next: We spend some time with globetrotting musician Roland Descartes and his family. Even some Parisiennes are clucking their tongues about his living with two women in the same house. What is his daughter Adrienne from his first marriage to make of his new family? And what is Roland to make of Haruka and Michiru's strange friends?

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	3. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Three**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 10: Stepmothers**

ROLAND DESCARTES' first thought about the invitation for him to perform at the American White House was (of course) _why has it taken so long?_ But to his credit, his next thought was that that it would be an opportunity to help reconcile his family. 

Roland had fathered five children with his first wife. Luisa had tolerated his philandering from the beginning of their marriage; it was part of his nature. In fact, he had played it up; the press had put him with far more women than he had actually had affairs with. The publicity was actually good for his musical career; it made him interesting enough so that even people who weren't great fans of classical music would attend his performances, and perhaps buy his recordings. 

It was so ironic that his brief encounter with an obscure Japanese woman could have caused the trouble; when it had begun, he doubted it would have been worthy of a footnote in his memoirs. At first, he had just wondered if he could control the mannish girl, and then if he could actually seduce her. Then he found out she was the companion of Michiru, a prodigy who was already making Roland jealous. When Haruka actually slept with him, he found her to be much more than he had expected--in fact, too much. She aroused feelings in him, and raised questions, that were very unsettling. He had left Japan early, simply to get away from her. And that would have been that, he had thought. 

Scheduling his performances so that he did not encounter Michiru (and, therefore, Haruka) did not cause much comment with his various managers over the years (he had gone through three). Michiru did not perform in public that often, but when she did, she attracted a lot of attention. His managers assumed that Roland Descartes did not care to be outshone at any given performance. That was true enough, so they did not look further. 

Years passed. Luisa and all but one of the children died in a senseless automobile accident. After the funeral, he had sent Adrienne to live with their mother's parents for awhile. 

And then he had gotten an invitation -- a ticket for an afternoon recital in Oakland. The note accompanying it was from Michiru, not Haruka. Curious, he accepted. 

The recital was for young musicians. They were all competent, but none really interested Roland Descartes until Michiru introduced Titania. Roland had heard that Michiru and her lover were raising two children, but he had never met them or seen pictures. 

Titania had exceptional talent. She was just a child of nine, but she already played with style, although _not_ Michiru's style. In fact, the child did not look anything like Michiru . . . 

He stayed after the recital to speak with Michiru, and the child . . . and Haruka. And that is when he discovered that Titania was Haruka's child . . . and his. 

Roland acknowledged her immediately, without thinking what it would mean to his other child. But it brought disaster: his in-laws began to fight him for custody of Adrienne, and Adrienne resented Titania. Roland _was_ wise enough to see that he should have anticipated jealousy; Adrienne was his child, after all, and Titania had the special talent she and her siblings had all lacked. 

None of his troubles with his first family would have ever persuaded Roland to give up Titania once he had discovered her, though. He had fallen in love with his daughter. That was why he had drifted into renewing his relationship with Haruka, and then marriage, and then into the three-cornered _menage_ with Michiru. 

And now, of course, he had fathered children by both of Titania's "mothers," Haruka and Michiru. He could not help in basking in that accomplishment, and he _knew_ they would be talented, heirs to his musical heritage. But there had to be a place for Adrienne, too. 

He insisted that all his children be allowed to attend the performance in his reply. It was only after he had sent this off that he consulted Michiru, and discovered that she had been sent her own letter from the American White House. 

* * *

Perhaps it was because the coming performance in the White House, or perhaps it was because Adrienne really missed her father, or perhaps they were tired of fighting. For whatever reason, Luis and Natividad Carnera decided to _consider _letting their grandchild go back to Roland Descartes. But first, they would spend a few days together, to see what actually went on in his household. 

Adrienne was the only surviving child of Luisa and Roland, twelve on the day when she was about to meet her half-sisters. And, while she wasn't supposed to be reading tabloids, she knew all the reputed, lurid details of her father's new wife and her lover--also his lover now. Adrienne was prepared to forgive her papa anything, but these new women who had taken her mother's place--she was prepared to hate them. 

It was easy to resent Michiru. She had a reputation as a difficult performer. Watching her perform on television, and listening, Adrienne decided the woman must be made of ice. But Haruka, in theory her new stepmother, was mostly an unknown. All Adrienne had been able to learn, was that Haruka came from an important family in Japan, and that she had raced cars and motorcycles as a teenager. And, of course, that she usually dressed as a man. 

Adrienne could understand enough Basque to follow her grandparents' conversation--they assumed, wrongly, that their grandchildren, who had grown up mostly in Paris and Madrid, would not know much of that ancient language. But Luisa had made a point of teaching her children, and Luisa had been her best student. 

Her grandmother muttered, "I do not like to see him bringing his women into this place. It was Luisa's. He should have moved elsewhere." 

Her grandfather shrugged. "If he thought about it at all, he probably thought he would lose money selling. Roland has always watched his _centimes._" He pressed the button at the front gate. 

Adrienne agreed with her grandmother. This place, with its courtyard, was the first home she ever remembered, and thinking of her father's new women living here was salt in her wounds. Like many French homes, it looked seedy from the outside, a deliberate attempt to foil the tax appraisers. But inside it had been wonderful . . . and now it was given over to . . . 

A black-haired girl came out into the courtyard, a child of seven or eight. She was dressed in a crisp white middie-dress, and carried a lovely porcelein doll in one arm. She looked very Japanese, except that her eyes were green. Wordlessly, she released the gate, and stepped back to wait for everyone to come in. 

Adrienne's grandfather got down on one knee to speak with the child. "Who are you?" he asked in English, choosing the language he thought she was most likely to understand. 

"My name is Nereid," the child replied in Basque. 

"You speak Basque?" asked grandfather, startled.

"I can speak many languages," answered the girl, switching to English. She closed the gate behind Ramon, the last to enter, and walked briskly ahead of them back to the house. Once inside the vestibule, she slipped off her shoes and into slippers. She pointed out the house slippers to the others. "Please, leave your shoes here." 

"You follow the Japanese customs here?" asked Adrienne's grandmother. 

"Yes, for shoes. Please, _maman _says no shoes in the house. Even Mr. Descartes does not wear shoes in the house now." 

They all replaced their shoes with slippers, while Nereid watched. Then she led them inside. 

"Where is Anne-Marie?" asked Adrienne. 

"She is away for a few days," answered the little girl. 

"Will she be back in time for us to see her?" Adrienne asked.

"I don't know." Nereid looked closely at Adrienne for a moment. "I will talk to _maman _about it later." 

"Where is everyone else?" asked Grandfather. 

Nereid said, "The babies are asleep. Titania and all the grownups are practicing. Don't you hear them?" 

"No." 

Nereid said, "Oh. I'm sorry, I thought you could. I hear better than most people. Come, I will show you the babies." 

The child led them all to the nursery, which had been the room Adrienne and Renee had shared when they last lived with their father. The infants were sleeping in their cribs. One of the children was obviously going to look much like Roland; the child had the same ears, and a considerable thatch of hair for an infant of nine weeks, of the same auburn color as her father's. The other did not have much hair at all, but the eyebrows were startling: dense as Roland's, but robin's-egg blue. 

"This is your sister?" asked Adrienne. 

"Yes," answered Nereid. "And your sister too. Her name is Amphitrite Marie." 

"And the other?" asked Grandmother, putting a restraining hand on Adrienne's shoulder. 

"Hecate Luisa." 

Adrienne narrowed her lips. She did not like having this child of a stranger bearing one of her mother's names. She blurted, "Did my father pick that name?" 

Nereid turned her eyes on Adrienne for a moment before answering. "I think you should ask your father and Tenou-san about that." 

And just at that moment, Hecate Luisa stirred. Her eyes opened, and fixed on Adrienne. Suddenly, Adrienne felt very ill, and had to run from the room. 

* * *

Adrienne did not think it unusual that her father would not interrupt his practice. Music was a part of his life he never compromised. She could barely hear the practice in the bathroom. Before Adrienne had been born, her father had put in an expensively soundproofed practice studio to stop complaints from neighbors. She remembered many agonizing hours there, trying to please her father and her mother. But what she heard, conducted through the pipes, was not like what she remembered; no yelling, and no horribly missed notes. Two violins were playing; one of them must be Titania's. 

Grandmother came in and fussed over her, but Adrienne said she was fine now, which was the truth. But the nausea had been real enough. 

Coming out of the bathroom, Adrienne heard an unfamiliar man's voice call to her, "Are you well?" 

Adrienne looked up-far up-into the face of the stranger, a handsome, clean-shaven man with orange-blonde hair, taller than her father, far taller than Grandfather. He was holding one of the babies, the one who looked like her father, the one who had looked at her just before she had gotten sick. 

Adrienne answered, "I am well now. Who are you?" 

The strange man bowed toward her. "I am Haruka." The man was a woman, was her father's new wife. "You are Adrienne?" 

"Yes." 

"Your father should be finished in a few minutes," said Haruka.

"Roland has not seen us for almost a year," said Grandmother. "Could he not cut his practice short this one day?" 

Haruka's face became very rigid for a moment. "Roland is Roland. Come, have some tea while we wait. And pastry, if Neri-chan has not eaten it all." The child, who was holding the other infant as she emerged from Adrienne's old room, said nothing, but gave Haruka a noticeably icey look. 

Grandfather did not have trouble talking with Haruka, for he was a car enthusiast, and Haruka knew a great deal about cars. But nothing important was said, except that Haruka revealed she had given up racing because of a disagreement with her parents. "But that was years ago. Why did you not return to it?" asked Grandfather. 

"I had other things to do," answered Haruka. As she spoke, Adrienne saw her father enter the room, along with Michiru, and a girl a little taller than herself. Titania looked very much like Haruka, except that she had the hair and the heavy eyebrows of Adrienne's father-and of Adrienne. Haruka kissed her daughter's brow, and then kissed Michiru, full on the lips. Adrienne wasn't as shocked by that as she had expected to be; it looked so natural. _But they have been lovers a long time_, Adrienne thought. Her father was the new element here, she saw; the third element to be fitted somehow into the older, lasting relationship. 

But while Adrienne could always reason with at least part of her mind, she was still only twelve, and what she felt toward Haruka was, still, resentment, though just a little less of it now. Whatever her nature, Haruka was a mother. Besides, Adrienne had Titania before her now, the true center of the storm. And Titania was looking at her. 

* * *

The day ended without a single chance for Adrienne to be alone with her father. Adrienne found that she was to sleep in Titania's room. She got the bed; Titania unrolled a futon and lay upon that, under a garish handmade quilt with moons and stars and rabbits sewn upon it. 

"Where on Earth did you get that quilt?" asked Adrienne, just as she was about to switch off the light. 

"Auntie Usagi made this for me," answered Titania. "I cannot remember not having it." 

"Auntie Usagi?" asked Adrienne.

Titania said, "She is . . . She is the leader of _okasan_'s old group of friends. _Okasan_ and maman came to America because of her, when she was about to have her first baby. That is why I was born in America. I am really an American. I have been to Japan only a few times. I can speak Japanese, but I cannot read Japanese very well at all." 

"But you play very well," said Adrienne.

A short silence. "I have a special gift. But it costs me . . . I do not think you have to practice two hours a day, or four when it is not a school day." 

"Papa made me practice at least two hours," responded Adrienne. "He will make me practice again." 

Titania said, "No, he will not. Maman--Michiru-mama--made him promise he wouldn't force you." 

"She did?" remarked Adrienne.

Titania said, "Yes . . . Neri-chan has a good ear for music, but she does not have the same gift for playing as maman or me, or even _okasan_. Michiru-mama does not make her practice as much as me. She won't let our _otousan_--our father--make you do more than you should." 

Adrienne said, "Oh . . . I guess I should thank her for that." 

Titania said, "If you want . . . but wait until _otousan_ is not around." 

Adrienne switched off the light. But she could not sleep. After a few minutes, she said, "Titania?" 

"Yes?" 

"When did you first know about me?" 

After a pause, Titania answered. "I knew I was a love child as soon I was old enough to understand such things. But I did not know who _otousan_ was until he came to one of my recitals. Your mother was already gone by then. _Otousan_ did not know about me before that." 

Adrienne sensed there was something more. "What about my mother?" 

The pause was much longer this time. "She did know. Neri-chan found some old letters from her to _okasan_. We did not read them, but they were from your mother . . . how did you guess?" 

Adrienne said, "I found some pictures of a little girl in _maman_'s things once. I did not know they were of you until today." 

"Oh . . . do you hate me, Descartes-san?" asked Titania.

This time Adrienne made the long pause. "I hated the idea of you. And I do not like that papa has spent so much time with you. But you seem to be a good person." 

"Thank you," said Titania.

"Do you know why papa gave my mother's name to your sister?" Adrienne asked.

Titania said, "He did not. _Okasan_ picked out that name. _Otousan_ was away when Heka-chan and Mafi-chan were born." 

"Oh . . . Why does your sister have a Japanese name when you don't?" 

Titania said, "Hecate is not a Japanese name. Hecate was a Greek goddess. And it is the name of a moon of Uranus, like Titania." 

Adrienne said, "Really? Why did your mother choose those names?" 

Titania said, "Uranus is her planet . . . it goes along with her sign . . . it is sort of a tradition with _okasan_ and her friends. Many of their children are named for things in the sky. Auntie Naru has nine children, and they are all named for stars in the Pleiades . . . That constellation is called subaru in Japan, you know. There's a little chart of it on the cars." 

"Oh . . . do you have a middle name?" 

"Yes. It is Nancy." 

"Nancy?" asked Adrienne.

"After Auntie Nancy," Titania said.

"Who is she to you? A real aunt?" 

Titania said, "No. She is the sister of Jimmy-chan. He was the father of Sarah-chan, Auntie Usagi's first child." 

"Why did your mother give you her name?" asked Adrienne.

Titania said, "Auntie Nancy saved _okasan_ from a bad man once. And she helped get _okasan_ get back together with Michiru-mama. It was a long time ago, when _okasan_ was pregnant with me . . . Auntie Nancy lives far away. I have not seen her very often, but it is always nice when she visits." 

"Oh . . . that is interesting. Exactly how did your Aunt Nancy save your mother?" 

Titania said in a matter-of-fact way, "She made the man chase her so _okasan_ could hide. Because _okasan_ was pregnant, Nancy-san thought it wasn't safe for her to fight." 

"Your mother fights?" 

Titania said, "Yes, she is a very good fighter. She can teach you some things, to keep yourself safe. Although she is not as good a teacher as Uncle Yuuichirou for that." 

Adrienne asked, "And who is this Uncle Yoo-whatever?" 

Titania said, "Yuuichirou. He is married to Auntie Rei, another one of _okasan_'s old friends from Japan. Auntie Rei had a love-child with him first. Like _okasan_, Auntie Rei did not tell him about it. But his mother found out. I think Auntie Usagi wrote to her. Anyway, Kumada-san married Auntie Rei as soon as his mother told him about Deja-chan. So Deja-chan does not remember when her _okasan _was not with her _otousan_. Uncle Yuuichirou learned martial arts from Auntie Rei's grandfather. He was a famous master in Japan before he became a priest. Now Uncle Yuuichirou teaches fighting. But he spends most of his time at home while Rei works. She is a lawyer . . . Uncle Yuuichirou taught me and Neri-chan how to ski, too. He is quite a good skier . . . do you ski?" 

Adrienne said, "Yes. I used to ski with my father . . . our father a lot. He did not tell you?" 

Titania said, "He has not told me much about you and your sisters and brothers. Most of what I know, Ann Marie told me. But she did not want to tell me much . . . Ann Marie does not like me much. She likes Neri-chan fine, but she loved your mother very much, and you and your brothers and sisters." 

Adrienne said, "I guess she doesn't like to see our place being taken . . . But she hasn't written or called me much." 

Titania said, "That does not sound right . . . I have seen her writing letters to you, a lot. Maybe your grandparents kept them from you." 

Adrienne said, "Maybe . . . They really don't want to give me back to Father." 

Titania asked, "Do you want me to go away? Back to America or to Japan, so you can have our father to yourself again?" 

Adrienne said, "That is not going to happen . . . papa will never let that happen. I have seen how proud of you he is." 

Titania said, "It is good for me to be with _otousan_, but is it bad for you?" 

Adrienne found she was beginning to feel for the voice in the dark. "I wish papa would be proud of me like that. But I don't have your gift." 

Titania said, "I am sure you have many gifts I do not have" 

Adrienne said, "Thank you . . . Let's go to sleep now." 

* * *

Adrienne woke up to the familiar sound of rain against the window, and gusting wind. Titania had gone; her futon was no longer on the floor. The room was chilly. The old home Adrienne loved had much character, but it had always been difficult to heat. She pulled up the covers while she thought whether it was worth getting up just yet, and felt something odd. She sat halfway up and saw that Titania's quilt was over her other bedclothes. 

* * *

**Chapter 11: Adrienne**

ADRIENNE FOUND that living with her father again amounted to, mostly, living with Haruka and Michiru. This was not a great surprise. Her father had always been away more than he had been at home. Michiru did perform, but in Paris, for the most part, and more often in studio than in public. Michiru was never separated from her infant; if Amphitrite needed her attention, everyone else would wait. In three months, she traveled no further than London, returning the same evening. 

Adrienne was not spared music practice, but she found Michiru was a much better teacher than her father, and a much more patient one. Freed from overcorrection, she found she could play well, and even enjoy it. 

It was not Haruka she found most difficult to warm to, after all. The tall, androgynous woman did not intrude on Adrienne unduly, but she did not neglect her. In fact, on a day when her father had been absent for more than a week, and Haruka taught her the rudiments of baseball, a game that was very popular in America and Japan, she found herself thinking that Haruka in some ways was a better father than her own. 

The babies were easy to love, because they were just babies, after all. 

No, the one who was hardest for Adrienne to adjust to was the first person she had met in her father's new household: Nereid. Nereid spoke little--except, paradoxically, to Anne Marie. She could babble with the maid for hours, mostly in Basque, which she spoke much better than Adrienne. Anne Marie had found a new pet. But when Nereid spoke to Adrienne, it was usually to correct her--and nearly always at the most embarrassing moment. 

One night, after the little pest had gone to bed, Adrienne told Titania what she thought of Nereid. Titania said, "Nereid does not make friends easily. She misses our friends in America. And she misses her other sisters." 

"_Other_ sisters?" exclaimed Adrienne. "But her father is not our father." 

Titania said, "_Otousan_ is not the only one who has children by more than one mother," said Titania. "_Maman_ chose Chiba-san to be Nereid's father, when she wanted to have a baby of her own. Later he married Auntie Usagi. They have three daughters, Kimi, Ikuko, and Juliette. But Chiba-san is also the father of Ishtar, whose mother is Auntie Minako, and the father of Lily, whose mother is Auntie Ginger." Titania laughed briefly. "Neri-chan is always doing this thing she does to you. She does it to me. She does not do it to people she does not care about." 

"Perhaps," said Adrienne doubtfully.

Titania said, "I think Neri-chan will be better after we visit our friends and her sisters. _Maman _will be performing in San Francisco soon. We will all go there."

"Before papa gets back?" asked Adrienne.

Titania said, "Maybe . . . Neri-chan heard _okasan _and _maman_ talking. They don't want to tell us yet because they are not sure papa will come with us. He does not really like to perform with _maman. Maman _says it is because he does not like to perform with anyone as good or better than he is."

"That is papa . . . Nereid hears a lot of things."

"Yes . . . that is one of her special talents."

* * *

Adrienne remembered San Francisco from several visits, and even recollected the Paramount, Oakland's grand old cinema turned theater and concert hall. She had no foreknowledge of a small place named "Kensington," which was where Titania's old home was. Her home was a hideous mansion. Adrienne recognized it from pictures, but found it was larger than she expected. "Your Auntie Usagi owns _this?_" 

"Oh, no," said Titania. "It belongs to Auntie Minako's stepfather." 

They had been picked up at the airport by a woman who seemed a giant. "Auntie Mako" was actually slightly shorter than Haruka but more solidly built. She had scooped up luggage as if it were empty, not even breaking her conversation with Adrienne's stepmothers. They spoke Japanese, so Adrienne could follow only the few words Titania had managed to teach her in odd moments, and not the gist of it at all. But it had been serious, whatever it was. 

Their father had not come with them; he was supposed to come in another week, after he finished a tour through Latin America. But they had brought Anne Marie--and they had not told papa about that, according to Nereid. This was the first secret Nereid had chosen to reveal to Adrienne directly. She did not doubt that it was an important one; Anne Marie had _never_ traveled to a performance before. "_Maman_ said she wanted to bring Anne Marie because the babies were used to having her around, but Haruka-papa said it is also because she wants to show up your papa's stinginess," Nereid had told her.

It was a miserable day out. The amazon driver explained, "We will go in the back way." The back entrance was off a short side street. The back of the house was cluttered, but practical-looking, especially the broad awning to park under. It was a stormy day, with tree-swaying gusts, and brief showers of wind-driven drops that hit the van like so much small gravel. There was also a long ramp, obviously added long after the home was first built, because it broke the long covered veranda. Somehow it was more honest and more inviting than the front. It was also inhabited. People were waiting, including two people in wheelchairs.

Nereid was off like a shot as soon as the door opened. She bounded up the ramp and made her way to the wheelchairs and the embraces of those in them and behind them. Titania stayed to help with their luggage and, probably, to act as a guide to Adrienne. Others came down to meet Haruka and Michiru. They were more restrained, exchanging bows and hand-holds. But this was cut short as the wind rose and the rain returned, managing to hit them under the awning from one side, then the other. The first priority was to get the babies inside; the luggage followed in a scramble. Adrienne made a final dash to the van's final parking space along with Titania to retrieve Nereid's last, forgotten item—her child's violin.

"Should we tell _otousan_ she forgot it?" asked Titania.

"No, but we should tell Nereid we will . . . Let's wait and see if the rain stops for a minute."

The van was already beginning to cool off. The mansion had no carriage house; simply a steel framework to hold a roof. There were traces of something, though. "Was there something here before? Where those bricks are?"

Titania said, "I guess so. The little man told me something about it once, but I forgot exactly what he said."

"The little man?" asked Adrienne.

Titania said, "The man who owns this all. Auntie Minako's stepfather. He is a little person. You know, very short?"

"I didn't see a little person," said Adrienne.

Titania said, "I don't think he will be here while we stay. He travels a lot. He has a place in Switzerland that is bigger than this. Well, the house is a little smaller, but there is much more land."

The wind rose even higher, and there was a sharp _crack!_ Adrienne started, closing her eyes in brief but heartfelt terror.

"Oh, look there!" said Titania.

A huge branch had fallen, blocking the pavement up to the big car shelter.

Another _crack!_ sounded, but different. It was lightning; everything had looked like it was caught in a photoflash.

Presently the amazon woman came out to the van, moved the huge branch out of the way, and drove them back to the awning, so they could make a short dash into the house.

* * *

Adrienne had to credit Titania with being a good guide, but there was simply too much to take in, too much that Titania knew as a matter of course and did not think to explain. It was easy to know who Usagi was; she was the blond woman in the wheelchair who seemed to have final say. The girl who used a wheelchair was her daughter, Kimi, who had been badly injured some time ago, but who was recovering, slowly. That one Adrienne knew quite a lot about, from Titania, but she was reluctant to approach Kimi, because Nereid was usually around her, and also her older sister, Sarah (or "Chibi-Usa," as Titania sometimes called her. Sarah was not that much bigger than Adrienne, but she was two years older, and something about her made Adrienne think she was "tough," more than bluff. Sarah was _extremely_ protective of her younger sister. There was another reason this made Adrienne uneasy . . .

As for the others, Adrienne found there were just too many of them. There were _many_ babies; the amazon, Makoto, had twins, including a boy named "Zeus," and there were three other sets of twins. There was a housekeeper, a small woman from the Philippines, also with a baby, but she was related to the owner in some way Adrienne didn't understand and didn't want to ask about, yet. She knew that "Auntie Naru" had nine children, including twin infants and an older pair of twin daughters, but she could not really get the names right, or even pick out all of them except for Pleione, the oldest, who looked like a taller version of her father, and Maia, the same age as herself, and the one who most perfectly resembled her mother, at least in appearance. Ishtar looked almost like a twin of Kimi, but of course she was not injured, and she was often with her smaller half-siblings, who had dark skins from their father, who was dead . . . Ishtar was also with Kimi a lot.

It was really all too much. Adrienne was actually glad when it was time for bed. Titania asked if she could share a dormer room with Adrienne.

* * *

The dormers were something like a youth hostel: plain, but adequate. There were electric heaters instead of the vents elsewhere, and they did not seem adequate in the stormy night. But combined with a generous allocation of quilts, their room was as at least as habitable as the chilly one she had had in Paris. In fact, it felt rather special, with the wind and rain and even some more lightning and thunder outside, and the smell of well-aged wood inside.

However, the sanitary arrangements in the loft were a bit rudimentary, and entirely too cold. So, when nature called in the wee hours, Adrienne made the longer journey to the floor below. Once the necessities were taken care of, Adrienne found herself drawn to the walkway around the top of the huge front room. This level, just below the dormers in the loft, had the main bedrooms, a half-dozen in front and another in back. The adults who lived here, and some of the older children, and the babies, slept in these rooms. She had forgotten where Haruka and Michiru were staying, and she walked around, trying to figure out where. While her hearing was not like Nereid's, it was sharp, and she thought she could recognize Haruka and Michiru's sleeping sounds by now. It was silly to do what she was doing, and Adrienne knew it, but she did it anyway.

A small girl came out of one of the other bathrooms when Adrienne was wondering whether she had found the right room. She padded past Adrienne, saying "Hi," in a small voice—probably more than half asleep, in Adrienne's judgement. Renee had been like that; she could get up, do her business, and come back to bed, not really waking up . . . Adrienne found herself wiping away a tear as she watched the little girl walked the distance of two more rooms, and then entered one.

Adrienne caught herself, and decided to go back to bed. But as she walked past the room the little girl had vanished into, she noticed something . . . the door was closed. _Closed._ Not halfway open, not slightly ajar, but closed. Adrienne pressed against the door, and it moved back no more than a millimeter before the latch stopped it. No, it was closed.

_How had she done that?_ All the doors she had found in the house had sturdy, noisy latches. No matter how careful the little girl had been, she should have made a noise that Adrienne could hear. And she had been half-asleep.

Adrienne was looking at that puzzling door when a voice startled her.

"What's on your mind?"

Adrienne turned, and found herself looking into the eyes of Sarah, one of the ones she had been avoiding. "Nothing," she said. But Adrienne felt something strange, something she had never felt before. She would not have noticed it, if it were not such a quiet moment. And a startling thought came to her: _Is she doing this to me?_

After a moment, Sarah asked, "Are you lost?"

"Perhaps." Somehow, she did not want to tell a lie. In a sense, she was lost, now, unsure of where she stood. "I saw a little girl go in this door. But she made no noise. How did she do that?"

"That was Lily," said Sarah. "She just does it . . . Don't worry about it. Are you all right?"

Adrienne said, "I think so. I should go back to Titania."

Sarah said, "Sounds like a good idea . . . It was nice of you to stay with her, when she asked."

Adrienne said, "Well . . . I think it was her being nice to me. I am used to her. You, you are really all strangers to me." Adrienne began to find her feet with this one, somehow. "I don't really know why I am here now. Why are you? Do you know?"

Sarah said, "I had a bad dream. I have them, sometimes. And you? . . . I watched you with Lily. Does she remind you of any of your sisters?"

"Yes . . . I suppose," said Adrienne. _How did she guess that?_

Sarah paused a moment. "My mother is awake, too. Do you want to come downstairs? I can make some chocolate for us all."

Adrienne said, "Thank you. Ahhh . . . O.K? Is that how you would say?"

"Your English is better than my French," said Sarah.

Adrienne said, "Thank you . . . let me check on Titania first?"

* * *

Titania was usually an early riser, but nearly always a sound sleeper, and Adrienne knew she would be unlikely to stir for awhile, once she saw her. She paused to put an extra quilt over her, and then went down to face the mysteries of "Auntie Usagi," and her intimidating daughter Sarah.

The kitchen had a long, sturdy table that could serve for food preparation or for consumption of same. It was also a safe place to put a baby carrier—or five of them. Besides the woman in the wheelchair, their was "Auntie Naru" and, no doubt, her youngest, one of whom was at her breast, and a delicately built younger woman who was feeding an older baby from a bottle. This one she recognized as Hotaru, who had been brought up by Haruka and Michiru and an older friend Adrienne had never met. She also remembered Hotaru was married to Usagi's brother, and there was some problem there, something even Titania did not want to share with Adrienne.

Mrs. Chiba's babies were both asleep. She was working on yet another quilt, talking with the others in Japanese as Adrienne came into the kitchen. But then Mrs. Chiba said, in English, "You missed Tenou-san and Keiou-san, Descartes-san. They were here with your sisters a little while ago."

Adrienne said, "Oh . . . I don't know. The time is so different here. I don't know when the babies will be up."

Mrs. Umino said wearily, "Babies are so much work. Don't you start having them too soon."

"You should talk," said Mrs. Chiba.

"I am only twelve, Mrs. Umino," said Adrienne.

"You are old enough to worry about what boys want to do with you," said Hotaru.

"Boys are all idiots," said Adrienne, with conviction.

"So are girls," said Hotaru, with more.

Sarah brought over a cup of chocolate. "From a mix," she apologized. Then she exchanged some words with her mother—_not Japanese; it sounded a _little_ like Basque._

"What did you say?" asked Adrienne.

Sarah and her mother glanced at one another. Then Sarah said, "I told her there is nothing in the chocolate but chocolate."

"What?" asked Adrienne.

Mrs. Chiba continued her sewing, but began to speak. "Do you feel anything now?"

Adrienne found she did feel _something._ "Yes . . . I don't know what it is."

"Ne-e-eh. My daughter is right, I am afraid." Mrs. Chiba put her sewing down, and turned to Adrienne. "Descartes-san, will you promise to keep something secret?"

"I don't know. Why?"

Mrs. Chiba said, "To keep a small child out of trouble."

Adrienne said, "I suppose . . . what exactly is this secret? About the feeling? Are you giving me the feeling?"

Mrs. Chiba said, "Yes . . . that is something else I wish you would keep to yourself."

Adrienne said, "Maybe . . . I don't understand."

Mrs. Chiba said, "I know how you think, Adrienne. Tomorrow, after you have slept, you will figure it out."

"Figure what out?" asked Adrienne.

Mrs. Chiba said, "How Lily-chan got through that door without making noise."

Adrienne asked, "There is a secret to it?"

Mrs. Chiba said, "Yes. She did not make noise because she did not open the door. She just went through it."

"Went through it?" Suddenly, Adrienne remembered what she had rationalized away—_the little girl had gone through the door, without opening it._

"Yes . . . Lily-chan has magic, and she is too young to really control it well. Especially when she is almost asleep." Mrs. Chiba picked up her sewing again, and began adding another piece to the quilt. "That is why Haruka does not let you be alone with Hecate. It is not because she does not trust you with her baby. It is because Hecate has magic already. Haruka wants to keep it secret from you. But pig-headed Auntie Usagi knows that she cannot do it much longer . . ."

Within a few more minutes, Adrienne Descartes was made party to secrets nations had not been able to discover.

* * *

The next day was difficult. Adrienne's stepmothers were clearly upset at Mrs. Chiba's initiative, Michiru particularly so. Nevertheless, Michiru explained at length the true nature of herself and her life-partner, and about some of the difficulties and dangers she could expect to face. Haruka was more comforting—but left Adrienne with the most disturbing thought of all.

"Now that it is done, I think _odango atama_ was right. She has always had a way of doing exactly the right thing when it really needs to be done . . . Adrienne, if we cannot be here, someday it could be up to you to take care of Hecate and Amphitrite. I do not think your father could every really understand what it is to be a _senshi, _if he ever has to learn. But you can. _Odango_ would not have told you if she was not sure you could understand."

* * *

**Chapter 12: Roland Descartes**

Roland Descartes, world-famous for his music, for his romances, and for being famous, approached San Francisco in a mostly-good mood. His Latin American tour had gone very well, and he had pleasant memories of a girl of Rio and a woman of Buenos Aires. But Roland had been careful to avoid involvement in after that, as abundant as the opportunities were. He didn't want the smell of other women fresh upon him when he returned to his family. _If only those idiot reporters knew how I really handle two women. _Or rather, how they handled him . . . or _thought_ they did.

"Roland, have you decided on the offer from Sacramento?" asked Andrea Besson.

Roland was brought back from his reverie by his manager. "Ahhh, yes I have. Tell them I decline."

"Is there any reason you want to give them?"

"Just say I am flattered by their offer, but I have plans."

The captain of the aircraft announced another delay. The manager frowned. "Sacramento is making a very generous offer, Monsieur. More than San Francisco or San Jose. It might be worth canceling—"

"I have decided, Andrea. Please, don't be difficult about it."

"Very well."

Roland wondered how much of a bribe Andrea would have to give up. Roland smiled at the thought. He did not begrudge his manager the little extras she picked up, but it would not do to let her have her way all the time. Of course, he was serious about the plans, though they were no more definite than spending time with his family. His children, of course, but he was beginning to think of Haruka and Michiru as family. That was something he was never going to share with the press. _I wonder if they are having trouble with reporters . . . they didn't mention any. _Roland had an understanding with the _paparazzi_ operating in Paris: he was fair game when he was performing, or out on the town, but his home was off-limits. Perhaps it was really the ghost of Luisa who held them off; she had hated the gypsy photographers with a passion, especially after the death of that English princess . . .

Besson interrupted Roland's thoughts again. "Oh, what was I thinking! I forgot to set up a limousine!"

"No need. My wives are sending someone to pick us up . . . I hope you haven't forgotten to book a room for yourself."

"I have . . . somewhere over there, I think," Besson said, indicating the window. "I wish it were possible to stay with you, Monsieur."

"Don't worry, Andrea. I promise not to make any bookings on my own."

"Or give any interviews," added his manager, who worried much more about the press than Roland did.

Roland smiled. "Or give any interviews."

Besson said, "And don't say 'wives' again. Especially in front of American reporters. They are not like ours."

"Andrea, I have handled more than a few American reporters."

Roland was vaguely disappointed that there were no reporters waiting for him t the airport, but it was, after all, what he had asked for: a quiet arrival. Adrienne and Titania found him first. They had come with a big woman Roland could not place for a moment—_Makoto, Mrs. Urawa,_ a particular friend of Haruka's. Attractive, in a Junoesque fashion—Roland noticed that Andrea certainly found her so.

"We thought you would never get here, Papa," said Adrienne.

"Well, I am here now," he said, bending down to kiss her, and then Titania.

"We'd better hurry, _otousan_," said Titania.

"Yes," said Mrs. Urawa. "If we don't get out of here soon, we will be caught in the evening traffic.

"Well, then, lead on, my Ladies," flourished Descartes.

"Hey, someone took our cart!" exclaimed Titania.

"_Baka!"_ said Mrs. Urawa. "Wait, I think I see it." She moved off. Roland smiled, seeing Andrea follow her. _She's in for disappointment,_ Roland thought. Then someone bumped into him. He stumbled, and fell against someone else, a young man.

"Hey, what are you doing!" shouted the young man.

"I apologize. I was pushed," said Roland.

The young man, who was taller, pushed Roland. "What? You 'pologize?' You think you're better than me?"

"I am sorry, Monsieur. I meant no offense." But Roland was beginning to take offense.

The young man pushed him again. "No 'fence?' No 'fence?'"

Titania suddenly cried out. "_Otousan_, where is your violin?"

Roland suddenly realized that his Stradivarius was no longer safely cradled in its case under his arm. In the second his attention was taken, the tall young man had slipped away into the dense crowd. _An accomplice! _Roland cried out for the _gendarmes, _and then remembered his English again, after uttering some French curses that raised Adrienne's eyebrows very high.

* * *

Roland's primary instrument was the pianoforte, so the loss of what was, quite frankly, one of the lesser-quality Strads was not really a professional setback. But it was valuable and it was his, and to have it taken was a violation of his person—especially when he found the American police were not holding the man who had helped steal it. There was not enough evidence to hold him. _We have none of that nonsense in France, thank God,_ thought Roland as the smirking young man was released.

The theft brought reporters, of course, and cameras. Roland managed to put on an amused façade for them, saying that at least the thieves had good taste. But it took effort, especially when one of the television reporters began to focus on the children. Adrienne coped with this by "forgetting" her English, but Titania could not take this evasion because she was known to be from this area. The questions were not bad ones, but there were a lot of them. Titania was too polite to stop the questions. _What was she up to, this one?_ Roland looked to his manager, trying to signal Andrea to do something. Andrea acknowledged him, but in the same expression indicated she was frustrated. Roland bit his lip for a moment, and noticed the reporter's cameraman focus on himself. _Ah, that's it. _He chose a pleasant-but-weary face to put on, thinking, _This pig of a reporter is trying to provoke _me_ to get exciting footage._

An older reporter, a man, interrupted the relentless one. "Excuse me, Kate, but could I ask just one question?"

"Of course, Jack," said the relentless one, putting on a smile too broad to be real.

The older man said, "I just want to ask Mr. Descartes something. Would you be willing to pay to get your violin back, 'no questions asked,' as we say here?"

"Of course, monsieur . . . ?"

"Jack Crawford. I guess, unlike Jerry Lewis, I'm not famous in France."

"Unfortunately, no . . . " Roland replied, after the laughter died down. "I will accept any reasonable offer. My concern is recovering the instrument. If the person who took the instrument happens to be listening . . . may I have a small moment?"

Roland turned to "consult" his manager. "Andrea, can't you help me now?" he whispered. "That pig woman will be back upon Titania in a moment."

Besson warned, "You must be careful with her, she is very popular. And she loves to provoke. Don't show your anger to her."

"How important is she?" asked Roland.

Besson said, "She has no reputation as a serious journalist, but she wants to be taken seriously now that she is famous. Treat her with respect."

"She deserves none."

Besson said, "I agree, but do it. She will give us less trouble."

"Very well . . . for the moment." Roland turned back to face the press, noticing that the reporters were expecting him to say something important. "If the instrument is returned safely, I will pay one million francs. That is about two hundred thousand American dollars now, I believe."

The pig woman seized the initiative again. "It's insured for a million dollars, isn't it?"

Roland drew on all his considerable skill as a performer, and gave his finest Gallic shrug. "I think my offer is certainly more than the people who took it could get from anyone else. This is my offer; I give my word I will not press charges if the instrument is returned. Perhaps my insurers will offer more, but I cannot guarantee they will not call in the police."

"Could you—" The woman stopped in the middle of whatever question she was about to ask, because one of the cameras emitted sparks and began smoking. _Her camera. There is some good luck._

"I seem to be the _hot_ story today," Roland said. Sensing an opportunity, after the laughter died down, he announced, "I think that is all for now, ladies and gentlemen."

* * *

Roland Descartes had only been to the Alvarson mansion once before, and only briefly. Neither Haruka nor Michiru had ever done much explaining about their former living arrangements. Roland had been curious enough to have Andrea Besson research Alvarson. She did not find much. Like many wealthy men, he was officially a Swiss citizen, and he took steps to protect his privacy. Now he was married to a Japanese woman, the mother of one of Haruka and Michiru's friends.

The ride to the mansion from the airport was a short one after all, because they had taken so much time dealing with the theft that the evening traffic was finished. So were his daughters. Adrienne and Titania lolled to sleep soon after the van began to roll, depriving Roland of the chance to ask them more about what they had been doing in the week since they had arrived. Andrea had begged off, probably because she thought she had embarrassed herself with an approach to Mrs. Urawa in some moment when they were alone. So, Roland could talk with Mrs. Urawa, or remain silent. He began by asking about her husband, a natural opening, though Roland had no intention of carrying through his flirtation.

"Ryo. He is an investment advisor."

"That must be interesting," Roland said politely.

Mrs. Urawa said, "His work bores me, but he is very good at it. We are not super-rich, but we have done well from our own investments. I am thinking of opening a restaurant, or starting a catering service. But not until my babies are bigger."

"Babies?"

Mrs. Urawa said, "I have little twins, Zeus and Soraya. They are the same age as your little ones."

"Your first children?" She looked quite young.

"Yes and no. I have three adopted children, and a stepdaughter. My husband was married before."

Roland asked a question that immediately came to his mind: "Do you share custody with the first wife?" 

"His first wife is dead," said Mrs. Urawa.

Roland said, "Oh . . . I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know much about you."

Mrs. Urawa said, "Don't be sorry for that. Why would you know?" 

Not knowing what to say next, Roland looked back at his girls. They were both still asleep, Titania leaning on Adrienne. He watched them until the car hit a bump. It literally gave him a pain in the neck, because the muscles there were taut when it happened. Turning back and rubbing the painful area, he said, "Have the roads gotten worse?"

Mrs. Urawa said, "No. This machine has very hard suspension. Very safe to drive, but a rough ride. Actually Haruka worked on this one. We have had it for a long time. It belongs to Naru-chan now. It is the only thing big enough to carry all her children."

"Naru?" Roland knew the basic Japanese diminutives by now.

Mrs. Urawa said, "Perhaps you know her as Mrs. Umino?"

"Ah, yes, I remember meeting her." _Barely. _A few words after his performance at the last Las Vegas computer convention. "How many children does your friend have?"

"Naru-chan has nine children now," said Mrs. Urawa.

"Nine." Roland was lost in thought for a moment. He had fathered nine children, that he knew of. Five by Luisa, with only Adrienne left; two by Haruka, one by Michiru, and one by the wife of a British noble—never to be acknowledged, because she had inherited the title. Despite the pain in his neck, he twisted back to look at his daughters again.

* * *

Roland had been a houseguest many, many times, and in far finer homes. But since he had been a teenager, he had always been the honored guest. While everyone was polite, by the end of his first morning he had discovered his true status in this very large household: he was simply the man who belonged to Haruka and Michiru, the father of Titania and their new babies.

Once his practice for the day was finished, he discovered he had time on his hands. Adrienne and Titania were busy completing two days of school assignments under the stern eye of Ann Marie. Most of the other children were off to their American schools except for the extraordinary crop of babies, a few toddlers, and a girl about the same age as Titania, who was recovering from some injuries. She was in a wheelchair most of the time. Her mother was in a wheelchair also, but permanently. Something about that woman made her uneasy. She was very short with him when he tried to talk with her little girl. He found himself retreating from her.

His hopes for some conjugal solace were dashed when he found Michiru unreceptive, and Haruka lost in the middle of an engine. With ten days of continence behind him, he felt this was horribly unjust. It was certainly uncomfortable, particularly when he noticed one of the Mrs. Jones coming back from some intensive workout, sweat outlining every detail under spandex, and wafting criminal amounts of musky scent into Roland's sensitive nose. This one was blond, long-legged, blue-eyed—she could have passed as the sister of the one in the wheelchair, although she was not. She was older than she looked, and had four children, and was Alvarson's stepdaughter. She was also the most attractive female Roland could conceive, and she mouthed a pleasantry when she noticed she was being noticed by Roland. She liked being noticed; he could feel that. _Some harmless fun with her, then,_ thought Roland, shrugging within.

Roland said, "Why are you perspiring so much? It is cool outside."

"If you do not sweat, you are not working hard enough," said Mrs. Jones. "Would you like to work out with me tomorrow?"

Roland said, "What do you do? I do not care much for jogging."

The blonde said, "I do martial arts. And sports, when we have enough of us together."

Roland said, "Martial arts . . . I did _savatte_ at one time, but I am afraid my skills have declined."

Her smile changed, or perhaps it was something in her eyes. _She had recognized that he was interested. What would she do about it?_

Whatever the next moment might have brought would remain a mystery to Roland, because chimes sounded. Someone had come calling.

* * *

Minako was closest to the front door, so she answered the chime. A single tone indicated the walk-in gate on Arlington, the same path she had taken in after the walk back from Rei's house. She glanced out and saw an unfamiliar van, with some kind of logo. The video camera showed a woman's face, a woman she had seen before, but could not remember from where. "Who is there?" she asked through the intercom.

"Katherine Warfield from _Hot News._ We would like to talk to your famous guest. And who am I speaking with?"

"I am Mrs. Jones. Could you wait a few moments?"

"Of course."

Minako cut the sound, and backed away from the intercom for good measure. Haruka's husband said to her, "I remember her from yesterday. She is a pig of a reporter."

"I should ask my friends," said Minako.

Descartes said, "That may not be wise. My manager told me she likes to pick fights. If you do not let her in, she will make a story of it."

Minako looked out again. She could see cameras behind the woman, one of them trained on the door.

Haruka's husband spoke again. "She is after me. I will throw her a bone and have her out of here. I have handled worse."

Minako weighed the factors: Usagi would be having her afternoon nap along with the babies. Olivia the housekeeper would be marketing; either Naru or Makoto would be picking up the first of the children from school while the other would be watching the babies. Mr. Descartes was rather full of himself, but he did have much experience with reporters.

Minako decided. She returned to the intercom, and said, "Mr. Descartes says he will see you."

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Pig Woman**

"What do you want us to do?" asked Katherine Warfield's producer.

Kate Warfield was off-balance for a moment, but only for a moment. "Give Sharon one of the small cameras."

"Why?"

"They'll be more likely to let her in." Warfield had not expected to be admitted, but she could not clawed her way up as far as she had without taking unexpected opportunities.

The producer complied, asking, "Should I wait?"

"Why not?" asked Warfield, irritated.

Her producer said, "Joel wants to do a hooker story. I have to set up a night shoot."

Warfield sighed. "Another hooker story. God bless sweeps."

"Amen. So, do you want me to stay?"

Joel Harris was on his way down, but he still had more clout than her with the executive producer. But, _you get lemons, make lemonade._ "Take off right now. That way, I can at least stay long enough to get a cab."

"Right. See you in the morning?"

"Yes. At nine. I want whatever we get to go out tomorrow."

* * *

Roland Descartes smoothed back his hair—he had not even bothered to pocket a comb today—and waited to receive the nuisance of a reporter he had so gladly escaped the day before. _Nothing for it,_ thought Roland. His manager had only reminded him of a fact of life for every performer: it was unwise to offend the press. Fighting with a reporter, except in good humor, was never an intelligent move. So, he would endure this one.

The front door opened. She had brought only one crewperson, a plumpish young woman who reminded him slightly of the creole maiden who had favored him in Rio: mostly white, but with just a touch of African blood to give her full lips, creamy tan skin, and wavy dark hair. Seeing that Mrs. Jones—a widow, he now recalled—was hesitating, he took over the situation by swinging the door wide and saying, "Come inside, come inside." The reporter and her camera operator complied, as Mrs. Jones stepped back.

Then the reporter did something unexpected. Instead of turning to Roland, she drew up to Mrs. Jones. "Excuse me, would you be Mrs. Marvell Jones?"

"My name is Jones, but my husband's name was Kevin."

"Kevin Jones, the brother of Marvell Jones?" asked the reporter.

"Yes, they were brothers."

"Kevin seems to have provided for you well," said the reporter.

_What was this woman up to? _thought Roland

Mrs. Jones shook her head. "Kevin left me three wonderful children, but he had very little else to leave us."

"Then how are you able to live here?" asked the reporter.

Mrs. Jones said, "I live as the guest of my stepfather, Mr. Alvarson. And, now, Mr. Descartes is also his guest. I am sure you would rather talk to him today. I have a very ordinary life, I am afraid."

The reporter said, "An ordinary life? Your husband was assassinated last year. Two years ago, you and your husband survived another assassination attempt."

Mrs. Jones was upset, but Roland saw an immense dignity in her he had not suspected. "My husband was killed because of his brother, not for anything he did himself. I do not know all of what he did before we married. What wife does know everything of her husband? What I do know of Kevin is that he loved me very much, that he was wonderful with children, and that he did the best he could with what he had. And I know I miss him, very much."

Roland could see no hint of sympathy in the reporter's eyes, but he noticed the camera operator sniff, and "adjust" her camera for a few moments.

* * *

Kate Warfield paused for a moment, noticing her camera operator was not shooting. There was no use going on if it wasn't on tape. She did not miss that slight sound of sympathy. _Have to talk to Sharon about this later,_ she thought. Something else was on her mind, too. _I've seen this Jones woman myself before, but where?_

Somewhere from above, the air was filled with the sound of babies, some crying, some just yelling. Mrs. Jones suddenly moved off very quickly. Descartes was looking at her, and he was not wearing any of the public faces she had seen before. With a slight signal, she made sure her camera operator got that face before he could put another on.

"Mr. Descartes, were you aware of these facts?"

* * *

Roland Descartes said, "Pardon," and backed away from the entrance. Adrienne was calling down to him from the walkway, in French, asking about the people who had just come in. He called back, "Just someone interviewing me. Go back to your lessons." But he did not put the urgency he would have liked into that command, and he found that the reporter and her camerawoman had moved inside with him. Instead of moving back from the railing, Adrienne turned to Titania, who had come up beside her, and Nereid . . . and Michiru, and Anne Marie, each of them with one of the infants. Michiru said something to Nereid that Roland could not make out. Whatever it was that Michiru said, it sent her daughter racing down the stairs, passing Mrs. Jones on the way up.

"Is that your wife, Mr. Descartes?" pressed the reporter.

Roland was caught off-balance. "Yes—pardon? Oh, my wife is working on a motor caravan."

_Blast, she almost caught me there!_

* * *

Kate Warfield was mildly irritated with the Frenchman for walking away, but discovering his family was here was more than recompense. Except for Titania's occasional performances, there was little exposure of Descartes' children.

Warfield was even more pleased when, instead of retreating, the party came downstairs. One of the girls—_Michiru's daughter?—_raced down ahead, and then ran across the enormous main room to disappear behind a stairway on the opposite side.

Warfield spoke French, something she did not intend to reveal. She spoke several other tongues passably, including enough Japanese to recognize it. She did not understand the language Michiru was conversing in as she descended the stairs, although she did catch a little Japanese being exchanged with the girl she recognized, Titania. But only a little; what she understood was merely "Be polite." The Frenchman spoke the unknown language, but not as fluently as the others. He broke into French as the others joined him. He was saying, "I am sorry, but she seems to be important here. Andrea warned me about her."

Sharon Canday was bored by the interview once it began, and wished she had more opportunity to "film" the home. The video recorder she was using was small but very sophisticated; it recorded using the latest compression methods, so it could squeeze as much as four hours on a single small cassette. She had two spares, and she wondered if she would get to use one of them.

Sharon noticed that Warfield had pulled in her horns a bit, probably because of the children. Privately, Jennifer thought Warfield's "touch" with children was pure artifice. But she pulled it off well enough to suggest a pause because one of the babies was particularly fussy.

A tall man smelling of oil and gasoline came and kissed the baby who was fussing so much. He—no, _she_ exchanged words with the others, and then rushed away.

Sharon was so curious she actually asked a question. "What was that about?"

The lady with the green hair, Michiru, answered. "Hecate wants to nurse. Haruka has to clean up first."

Warfield broke in. "Excuse me, that was your wife?"

"_Oui,_" answered the Frenchman. He was holding the fussing baby now, trying to comfort it. "Hecate can be quite insistent at times." He spoke soothingly to the infant in French.

Michiru reached out to rub the prodigy Titania's head. "She was the same when she was so small." The girl blushed.

The Frenchman might be a dog with woman, but he seemed to be good with children. The baby settled down enough for Warfield to start the interview again.

* * *

Katherine Warfield said to Michiru, "I met a Mrs. Kevin Jones when I came in, Ms. Meiou. Are you acquainted?"

Michiru said, "Yes. Minako and I have been friends for many years."

Warfield said, "Really? And her late husband?"

Michiru said, "I did not know him as well, I am afraid. He was a kind, considerate man."

At that particular moment, Roland began amusing himself by picturing the pig of a reporter as a pig. It was a trick that had helped him endure many fools over the years. He also wondered when Haruka would be back.

There were the sounds of activity—older children. Sharon Canday glanced away from her viewfinder for a moment.

Titania watched Katherine Warfield as if she were a snake. But her older half-sister feigned indifference and looked away. She was the only one who saw it. Or perhaps, the only one who saw it and knew what to look for, now. Adrienne saw Hecate's eyes light up, for just an instant, just the slightest change in tone.

Sure enough, a second later, the Warfield woman stopped talking. She retched. Adrienne asked the woman, "Are you ill?" She asked it in French, without thinking. And without thinking, the woman answered in French. Adrienne then volunteered, "Let me show you the bathroom." And she led the horrible woman away, swallowing a smirk. 

* * *

The others watched as Haruka trotted into the nursery and closed the door behind her quickly.

"Is that reporter still here?" asked Naru.

Haruka said, "Yes, but she got sick suddenly. I took Hecate from Roland and got out as quickly as I could"

"Sick?" Naru had a slightly suspicious tone.

Haruka sat down, opened her robe, and began to nurse Hecate. She did not answer until Hecate was well-settled. "Adrienne thinks she used her magic on the reporter. Do you think that is possible?"

Naru said, "Yes." She paused a moment, concentrating on a spell. "I think she has. Her aura is different now. She has worked magic or tried to."

Haruka smiled ruefully, and kissed Hecate on her still mostly hairless head. "You naughty girl," she said in mock anger. Then she addressed her friends. "Roland says the reporter is a swine, but that she is important. He will try to keep her controlled . . . Do either of you know of her? Her name is Kate Warfield. I don't know of her."

Hotaru spoke up. "I know of her. She is from what they call a tabloid show here."

"Really?" remarked Haruka. "And when did you start watching such worthless things?" Haruka was imitating Michiru.

"I had a lot of time with nothing better to do waiting for this one to come," said Hotaru, tickling Rhea into a bubbly giggle. "But Descartes-san is right. She is popular."

Minako said, "She is also mean. I remember now, I tripped her once when she was bothering Lisette after her press conference. I hope she doesn't remember that." 

"Should I have Chibi-Usa make her forget?" asked Usagi, wheeling inside. She was in some difficulty; it was crowded. "Gin-chan is right; we should take out that wall and make a bigger room."

"No, it is not that important," answered Minako.

"Not that important?" retorted Usagi. "Not that important! I can't even turn around in here now! I think."

Minako said, "I meant about the reporter. Chibi-Usa should not use her powers just to help me out of a little trouble."

"It _is_ crowded. Some of us could leave," suggested Hotaru. "Tenou-san, would you come with me?"

Haruka was caught a little short by Hotaru's formal form of address, but it was, after all, correct. "Yes, Tomoe-san. Of course."

They were quiet as they slipped out onto the walkway. Haruka glanced down and saw that the reporter had not returned to the main room, although the woman with the camera was talking with Michiru and Roland and the children—she could make out that they were speaking French, for the most part. Still, the reporter could return at any moment.

Haruka followed Hotaru to her room. She suspected Hotaru was using her powers to make their transit quieter still, but she did not ask.

* * *

Warfield had sent the child away as soon as she could speak. Perhaps it was not the smartest decision, because Kate was in dire straits, but she did not want anyone to see her so.

_What brought this on? _she wondered, as she finally began to recover a little. It was far from the first time she had had to tackle nausea. After rinsing out her mouth, she drew a glass of warm water and began to drink it, a little at a time. Her stomach seemed to be settling. But her nose was feeling peculiar, and she had a _devilish _itch between her nether cheeks, one that she found herself scratching before she thought . . .

* * *

Sharon Canday wondered how long she should wait before checking on Warfield. But she found that Descartes, Michiru, and their older children to be pleasant company, and they all seemed to be able to follow her Cajun French.

"So, you are from Louisiana, then?" asked Descartes.

"Actually Texas. There are quite a lot of us in East Texas. But my folks came from Louisiana. I used to spend my summers with my grandparents. That is how I really learned to speak French." She caught movement overhead, and saw a face over the railing. It was Descartes' wife, who had rushed in, grabbed her infant, and headed upstairs only moments after Warfield had left. _Hiding,_ she thought. _I don't blame her._

"Texas?" said Descartes. "I have been there, too . . ."

* * *

Haruka did not have to nurse Hecate long at all. In fact, she did not get to nurse enough; she used a breast pump to finish what Hecate had started. "She wasn't really hungry," Haruka explained, looking down at her infant, asleep again. "She's a great sleeper. She reminds me of how _odongo atama_ used to be."

Hotaru watched Rhea endlessly arrange and rearrange the colored blocks she had brought for her. She finally asked the question. "Haruka-papa, should I let Shingo go?"

Haruka was not surprised by the question itself, but by it coming now. "That is your decision. But I do not think Shingo wants to leave you."

Hotaru did not look at her. "This is different from you and Descartes-san. Shingo is not just having fun with Mika. He loves her."

Haruka said, "I do love Descartes-san, you know. Why else would I put up with him?"

Hotaru said, "You do not love him like you love Michiru-mama."

"No. I could never love anyone else like that. But I have come to love my husband. As has Michiru, in her own way." Haruka reached out to touch Hotaru's cheek for a moment. "I do not think that parting from Shingo would make you happy, or would make Shingo happy, or would even make Mika happy."

Hotaru said, "I think Michiru-mama thinks--"

Haruka said, "She is very angry with Shingo. But do not think that means she does not agree with me about this."

At last Hotaru looked at her. She said, "How do you feel about Descartes-san being with other women?"

Haruka shrugged. "I would rather he gave that up. Certainly Michiru does."

"Does he really love you?" asked Hotaru.

Haruka's pause was longer. "Yes. He loves us. Both of us. We are both part of his family now, and he is a good family man, whatever else he is."

"I would think that would make it worse," said Hotaru.

"In some ways, it does . . . but Roland is Roland."

Hotaru looked back at Rhea for a moment or two, and said, "Maybe we should move to France, the three of us. Five of us, with Rhea and Mika's baby."

Haruka said, "Shingo is not Roland. And it is not that much easier for us in Paris."

Hotaru looked back at Haruka and smiled. "It was only a thought."

Haruka smiled back, and then sighed. She got up carefully, saying, "Would you watch Hecate for a few minutes? I'm going to change and go downstairs."

"Why not stay up here with me?" asked Hotaru.

Haruka said, "It would be much more pleasant, but I should not let Michiru face that reporter without me."

* * *

Kate Warfield returned and continued her questioning, mostly of the children at first, until a flock of other children arrived from school. Descartes' legal wife, Haruka, returned, and the children went off. Warfield pressed on, asking the inevitable questions about Haruka and Michiru and getting the expected answers. Then she asked the Frenchman about himself, and he went on, and on, and on. Warfield did not think she would be using much of _that,_ but she had a feeling if she waited long enough, she would get something else.

But she did not get anything, really. Older children began arriving home from school, and adults from work. The house was becoming crowded, actually. Descartes brought the interview to an end she could not find a reasonable way to avoid.

* * *

"What?" Kate Warfield could not believe what she was hearing. "The Jones woman is the only good thing I got, really."

The executive producer shook his head. "No. I can't let you use it."

"Then what am I supposed to work with?" demanded Warfield.

"You shot over two hours. I think you can get five or ten minutes out of that."

* * *

_Hot News_ was on in the afternoon in the San Francisco Bay Area, but Hotaru recorded it so that it could be watched after all the children were in bed. She was surprised that the story did not appear for three days. When she found the story had been aired, she called the others in. They used the little theater Lily's grandparents had put in to replace the cramped old servants' quarters.

Roland left as soon as the segment was over. "Don't ever let Adrienne or Titania see this!" He muttered to Haruka and Michiru as he exited. He headed for the basement, where he had set up one of his little secrets: a punching bag. He would kick and beat the big sack until his anger was worked out.

Michiru remarked, "Ms. Warfield is clever at what she does."

"Or she has clever people working for her," said Haruka.

"Both, I think," remarked Rei. "Your Roland will not be able to take them to court over any of that." She sighed. "Does he really butterfly that way?"

Haruka nodded. "He has a bigger reputation for it than he really deserves, but, yes, that is the way he is."

"I thought perhaps he had grown past it," said Rei.

Michiru laughed. "Roland? Does a fish grow past swimming?" She shook her head. "He is really angry because the piece makes him look like a fool."

"But she did not use any of the questions she asked you, Minako," remarked Makoto.

Minako looked around at the others. "Alvarson-san did something. Or his people."

Usagi said archly, "Didn't you say this problem was too small for us to use our powers with?"

Minako replied, "My stepfather does not want reporters here all the time. I told him what happened, and he did what he wanted to do."

Usagi and everyone else looked askance at that answer. Then Usagi shrugged, and asked, "Is it just me, or did Ms. Warfield's nose seem bigger to the rest of you?"

* * *

While the soundproofing of the little theater was impressive, it was not proof against the extraordinary hearing of Nereid, who stayed up to listen to what her mother did not want her to hear. Titania had fallen asleep, but Adrienne stayed up with her.

"All right. I think they are finished now," said Nereid.

Adrienne shook her head. "Is papa still punching the bag?"

Nereid said, "Yes. He is slowing down a lot. I have never heard him punch it for so long . . . _maman_ is asking him if he is almost finished."

"What is wrong?" Adrienne could tell something was bothering her stepsister.

"Well . . . I think they will . . . uh . . . " Nereid was flushed.

Suddenly Adrienne understood. "Maybe you should stop listening."

"Maybe." She sounded doubtful.

Adrienne said, "Maybe we should go to sleep, then. They might come up to check on us."

"I guess," said Nereid.

Adrienne tried to ignore it, but she was getting to be knowledgeable about Nereid's moods. After a few moments, she asked, "Nereid, is there something you are worried about?"

"Yes, sort of."

"What is it?"

Nereid said, "Auntie Usagi is worried about something. I think it is about that nasty reporter woman."

Adrienne said, "I don't think we need to worry about her any more. Papa will know how to handle her if she comes back."

Nereid said, "I guess . . . you were right, I think they are coming up to check on us."

They pretended to be asleep, but they did not really fool Haruka or Michiru.

* * *

Next: Sarah wonders if being a senshi will cost her a friend, Lorraine becomes fond of a retired cop, and a man Rei would rather forget comes back into her life.

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	4. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Four**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 14: One of Sarah's Longer Days**

"MS. OO-ER? SARAH OO-ER?" 

Sarah became aware that the substitute teacher was calling on her now. 

"Sarah Ami Usagi Uer?" he said, reading off her full name from a list on his lecturn, mispronouncing three of its four parts. "Are you _with_ us?" He used a "sophisticated" accent that had grated on Sarah's ears with the sour notes of pretension. Perhaps he thought it he sounded English. Sarah had spoken with too many real English people to be fooled by it. "Ms. Uer?" He pronounced it "_ooh-er_." 

"My name is pronounced '_wear,_'" said Sarah.

"Oh. Well, Ms. _Uer, _can you answer my question?" 

Sarah said, "I didn't hear it . . . Sorry, I had my mind on something else." 

"Apparently . . . " The substitute eyed Sarah a little too long before glancing down to write something. It was then that Sarah broke her usual discipline and read him. She had hoped just to get the question he had asked and she had not heard, but found his mind filled with quite another matter. He finished writing his note, and then called on another student, reading off the name from his list before looking up. 

Sarah pulled down her skirt as quietly as she could, glancing over to Pleione, who was giving her _I tried to tell you_ shrug. There was some giggling, but she could not quite catch the culprits by looks alone. 

* * *

Since her first month of middle school, Sarah had usually shared her lunchtime with Pleione, Pleione's friend Johnny Brown, and three girls: Joline Davis, Paula Chin, and Valentina Petrov. The first year there had also been Zoë, who tended to mother everyone like Auntie Makoto (and also menace annoying boys), but she had moved on to high school after that. But Zoë's place had been taken by Deja, Auntie Rei's daughter--anything but an improvement, in Sarah's opinion. 

Today Sarah had begun her lunch alone. Pleione, Joline, Paula, and Val all had classes that lasted into the first half-hour of her lunch break. Johnny was sitting with another girl, at another table, bashfully enduring jibes from her girlfriends. Sarah tried to watch without being too obvious. Pleione would be asking about it later, because she wouldn't grill Johnny . . . 

"I heard about you and Mr. Ossining this morning." 

Sarah cringed. Deja had come up while she wasn't paying attention. Sarah turned to her, glared for a moment, and then softened, because Deja was offering her a _sashimi _and a cup of sauce for it. Sarah took the artfully-sculpted morsel, dipped it in the fiery sauce, and ate it. Then she said, "Tell your _father_ thanks for me." 

Deja said, "I will. You know, if you are going to fall asleep all the time, you shouldn't wear a skirt. At least not a short one like that." 

Sarah muttered, "You should talk about short skirts." 

"I stay awake, and I know how to sit in one." Deja ate a sashimi, and paused. Switching to Japanese, Deja asked Sarah, "Did you have another nightmare last night?" Her tone had changed, and she had a different look on her face. 

Sarah replied in Japanese. "Kimi-chan was in this one . . . It was bad. I could not sleep for a long time." 

Sarah was waiting for Deja to reply, and feeling warmer toward her usually annoying shadow, when two muscular boys sat themselves down at her table. They were wearing school jackets, but not from Sarah's school. One of them said, "Mind if we sit here?" It wasn't really a question, because they were already making themselves comfortable. 

They were also both good-looking. 

In fact, they were _great_-looking. Sarah noticed that Deja was slipping off her glasses, a sure sign that _she_ had noticed how handsome the strange boys were. Sarah thought, _You're just as bad as me!_ But when Sarah looked at the boys again, she realized the boys weren't paying attention to anything but their food. 

Deja began asking them questions, to which they gave one word answers, or grunts, as they continued to attack their food. Sarah, however, didn't say a thing . . . 

There was a reason Sarah Uer had been sitting alone in a pretty crowded lunchroom until Deja Kumada had joined her. It was her third year, and everyone who mattered knew it was not a risk-free proposition to sit with Sarah, especially if she was in a mood . . . 

* * *

"Sarah Uer, I'll see you now," said the Vice Principal as she walked by and in to her office. 

This was a very familiar phrase to Sarah Uer. The Vice Principal—this year it was a woman named Barbara A. Fuhrmann—pronounced Sarah's surname exactly as it should be pronounced, perhaps from practice, perhaps from a briefing she had gotten from her predecessor. 

Sarah came in and stood in front of Ms. Fuhrmann's desk. This wasn't a gesture of penitence, feigned or sincere. Sarah was afraid to read this Vice Principal, because she was one of those people who had a touch of power. Not enough power to really _do_ anything, except maybe have some intuition, but enough to feel _different_ when Sarah tried to read her, and enough to sense that that different feeling was not like anything else. But Sarah guessed that this woman was very sensitive to "acts." Therefore, Sarah had never tried any of the techniques that had gotten her out of trouble before. Instead, she would tell as much truth as Ms. Fuhrmann could be trusted to believe. 

"You can sit down," said Ms. Fuhrmann. 

"Is this going to take a long time?" Sarah asked. "My mom is waiting for me." 

Ms Fuhrmann looked up from the folder she was looking through, straight into Sarah's eyes. "I know about your mother's disability. Now, first, would you tell me what happened in the lunchroom today?" 

Sarah sucked in her breath, and said, "I started it." 

"Explain?" insisted the Vice Principal.

Sarah said, "A couple of jocks from the visiting team sat at our table. I was with my friend Deja. Deja tried to talk to them but they didn't really want to talk to her. So, I didn't try to talk to them myself. I was trying to see how Johnny was doing at another table, because I knew my friend Pleione would want to know . . . anyway, I got really p—really mad at the two jocks when they wouldn't pay any attention to us. Deja was being really sweet, you know, and they were acting like pigs, even _sounding _like pigs. So I played a joke on them. I kept touching one of them on his butt. He thought the other jock was doing it. Anyway, after a few minutes, they started arguing with each other, and then they started throwing punches at each other. Johnny Brown and some other guys tried to break up the fight. One of them started hitting Johnny just when Pleione came in. Pleione saw that and she ran over and whipped on that guy. Johnny and I pulled her off." 

The Vice Principal said, "You didn't hit the boy who struck your friend Johnny?" 

Sarah said, "No, Johnny was handling him pretty well. If he had really hurt Johnny, I would have cleaned his clock worse than Pelly did." 

"Pelly?" asked Ms. Fuhrmann.

"Pleione," Sarah explained. "We've been friends since we were babies . . . anyway, that's what happened. So do whatever you want to do to me. Pelly just saw someone beating on Johnny and hulked out for a few seconds, but I started the whole thing." 

The Vice Principal did not look away. She said, "I just watched the tape. I didn't see you do anything to either of the Stanislaus boys before the fight started." 

"Well, I'm pretty good at that joke. But I did it." Sarah looked very deeply into Ms. Fuhrmann's eyes. "I'm telling the truth." 

The Vice Principal said, "I believe you." Then she swiveled in her chair, putting her back to Sarah. After a pause, she said, "Some people were asking questions about you a this morning." 

"People?" 

"Some people from the FBI." 

Sarah could not but help read for a moment, getting an image of two stonefaced men in dull suits. She saw the Vice Principal shiver slightly. "Was it about my sister?" 

Ms. Fuhrmann said warily, "Some of it . . . They asked me what you thought of the President." 

Sarah thought a moment, forcing herself not to read. "I think I know what that's about." 

Ms. Fuhrmann turned back to face her. "Really?" She did not sound very credulous. 

Sarah said, "It's about Auntie Michiru. She's going to perform at the White House this summer sometime. She told us she would try to get us invitations. I guess they are checking up on us all because of that. Did they ask about Pelly? Pleione?" 

The Vice Principal said, "They asked a few questions about her. And a few about Ms. Kumada." 

"_Deja?_" Sarah shook her head. "Paranoid." 

Ms. Fuhrmann looked to Sarah as if she wanted to ask many more questions. But, instead, she wrote out a slip and handed it to Sarah. "Give this to your parents, Ms. Uer. I want to see your mother and your father as soon as they can arrange it. But I won't keep your mother waiting any longer today."

* * *

Paula, Val, and Joline used to ride home a lot with Sarah and Pleione. Now they usually didn't. Of course today, Sarah's mother was picking Sarah and Pelly up. Her mother's van was too small to fit the whole gang, really, along with Auntie Naru's and Auntie Mako's kids from their primary schools. But her friends had been happy enough to shoe-horn in before, thought Sarah, as she walked up to the van, and into her mother's eyes. _Before Kimi was hurt. _Sarah couldn't find a good word, so she simply handed to her mother the slip Ms. Fuhrmann the Vice Principal had written out, and waited for her mother to say something. 

Her mother took a moment to read the slip, then tucked it away. She said, quietly, "Would you like to stay for the soccer game and come back with Pleione? I have to come back for her, anyway." 

Plain Pleione was, somewhat incredibly, a cheerleader. She had become one so she could follow Johnny Brown to all his games. _And she never tells Johnny why she really does it,_ thought Sarah. Sarah answered, "No, I'd better come home. I don't want to see those boys from the other school now." 

Maia Umino, the next-oldest of Naru's brood, leaned out from the back behind Sarah's mother's seat and said, "Please, take me? I want to see Pelly." Maia went to a different school, one of the very few with a decent art program; otherwise she would have been in Deja's class. As if to remind Sarah of that, Deja somehow squeezed up behind Maia, and echoed her. "Please? I want to stay, too." 

Sarah's mother said, "Hotaru-chan is at the game now. She came with Michiru and Haruka. They are showing Mr. Descartes what one of these games is like." 

With her mother and Deja being so nice to her, Sarah wanted to scream, _Yell at me! I screwed up and got somebody hurt! Again! _But she said, "All right. Thanks, _otousan_. Come on, brats!" 

* * *

High-school soccer, in this year in California, had forty minute games. But there were almost always two games played, one for the girls' team and one for the boys' team, so the two together ran about as long as a professional game. The girls's game was beginning its second half as Sarah Uer shepherded Deja and Maia into the stands. It did not take Sarah any time at all to spot Hotaru-chan, because she was sitting with Michiru and Haruka and the _man_ in their lives. Where else would _the_ Roland Descartes sit but in the front row? 

* * *

Roland Descartes was not a great fan of spectator sports, but found he thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of this event. The enthusiasm of the small crowd was exhilerating. Especially amusing was watching Michiru struggling to keep her reserve--to someone who did not know her intimately as he himself did, she looked as notoriously cool as ever. But Roland was close enough, and knew to look for, the tell-tale flush on her neck, and the sweat on the backs of her hands. It was an almost sure indication that she would be receptive later . . . and between anticipation and the wholesome eroticism of the cheerleaders, Roland's attention was entirely diverted until he caught _those_ eyes glaring at him. 

It was Sarah, Mrs. Chiba's unsettling oldest child, staring at into him. But only for a moment. The child was polite enough to turn away when noticed. People on the front bench got up and moved over to make room for her and the two latecomers she had brought--the Kumada girl and another Umino girl, considerably more attractive than the one cheerleading. _Not favored of face, that one,_ thought Roland as he moved down. It was crowded now--but at least he was squeezed in between Haruka and Michiru. Roland looked past the cheerleaders and the players to the opposite tier of seats, and saw one girl pointing at him, saying something to the girls around her, bending close to hear. 

The next time a cheer began to rise, Roland took Haruka's hand in his right and Michiru's in his left, and raised his arms high as they stood up. There was quite a lot of pointing from the opposite gallery after that . . . and, Roland saw, the big video camera had caught it. _It will be on the news tonight . . . I hope Andrea sees it._ At that thought, Roland chuckled. Then he glanced past Michiru for some reason, some feeling . . . and looked into _those _eyes again. For a moment, he felt a chill . . . but only a very short moment, before Mrs. Chiba's girl looked away again. Another cheer began, and Roland prepared to repeat his performance, his unsettling intuition already forgotten. The pointer he had first noticed was pointing again. 

* * *

Sarah Ami Usagi Uer looked into the crowd on the opposite side of the field and waved back to Paula, Val, and Joline. She thought of going over to them, but Hotaru had brought Rhea so moving over would be a big deal if Hotaru came . . . and she did not want to leave Hotaru. So here she was, and there they were.

The people rose to cheer, and Sarah noticed that Mr. Descartes was making a big deal of it. _What a ham,_ Sarah thought as she looked at him. _Why do Auntie Haruka and Auntie Michiru put up with him?_ He looked at her, and she turned back to watch the game, more or less.

* * *

As the crowd flowed off the field after the end of the boys' game, Sarah spotted one of the boys who had fought. It wasn't the one Pleione had given a bloody nose; it was the other one, the one who had hit something with his fist and hurt his hand. Sarah ran up to him. "Hey, wait a minute!"

The boy looked puzzled. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember?" asked Sarah.

He shook his head.

Sarah was tempted to drop the whole thing, but it _was _her fault--and it would probably get back to the boy or his parents because she had told Ms. Fuhrmann. She said, "I was in the lunchroom today. You sat at my table."

"Oh . . . " He looked at her. "Oh, you were with her." He pointed at Deja, who had come up with her other friends. "Did I hurt you or anything?"

Sarah said, "No . . . I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

He held up his right hand, which was bandaged. "Oh, it's nothing big. Stupid, but nothing broken."

Hotaru unexpectedly broke in. "Will you miss your next big game?"

"I dunno."

"Could I see your hand?" asked Hotaru.

"I guess." He extended it.

Hotaru took it and examined it. Sarah thought she saw a glow under the bandage for a moment. She looked around. Joline had Rhea and was absorbed with her; Paula's face showed nothing special--but Val's eyes were a little too wide. _She caught something._

Hotaru took her hands away and said, "I hope you won't miss your next game."

"Oh, it's no big thing, not like we can make the playoffs now."

_The idiot doesn't notice he's been healed! Why am I going through with this?_ But Sarah had come this far. She drew herself up and said, loudly enough to get his attention back, "No, what I meant is, I'm sorry. I apologize. You see, I started your fight."

"What are you talking about?"

Sarah said, "I . . . played a joke on you. It was me touching you, not your friend."

"_You?_"

Sarah nodded.

The tall boy laughed. "Jeez, that was pretty good." Then he turned around, and walked away. Sarah read his thoughts for a moment then. He was thinking about the game that had been played. He had already put Sarah out of his mind.

Suddenly he stopped and whirled around. Then he spotted Sarah looking at him. Sarah smiled, turned around, and said, "Let's go home now. Jo, Val, Paula, you want to come over to my place for awhile?"

* * *

Roland Descartes' anticipation had been fulfilled. By all rights, he should be still asleep. He was not, after all, in his youth. But, here he was, awake, while his wives were asleep. They were very soundly asleep, he knew, and it would not be wise to wake them, even if . . . He smiled to himself. He had no third act within him tonight.

But, still, he was awake now.

Stealthily, carefully, he eased himself up. Presently he made out the face of the clock. It was past midnight--not as late as he had guessed. Too early to steal an early start on his day. But he was out of the bed, and fully awake.

He decided to explore the house for awhile. He had crept through many a mansion in the wee hours before, and there had always been something interesting to find, something he would never have found in the day. He slipped on pajamas and a robe, and stealthily left the room.

* * *

Sarah was in the theater with her friends--and Kimi, who insisted she had enough energy to sit up for a late show. Joline and Paula had fallen asleep in their chairs, and Kimi was beginning to nod, but she kept waking herself up. And Valentina was awake. Val was awake, and she kept looking at Sarah in an odd way, the way that said, _I want to ask something._ Sarah did not read her thoughts--not so much because reading friends all the time was not polite, but because she suspected that Val could feel her mind being touched. That was common enough, Sarah knew. Few people knew what it meant, but Valentina Petrov was the smartest of her non-senshi friends.

And, besides, Sarah was tired, and reading thoughts was _work._

Auntie Naru wheeled in Sarah's mother in her wheelchair. _That_ was a sign her mother was tired; she usually insisted on wheeling herself. Sarah's mother said, "Isn't it about time you should go to bed?"

"I'm all right," said Kimi, sounding very tired. Sarah saw that Kimi did not bother to open her eyes.

Sarah's mother and Auntie Naru waited quietly, as did Sarah. They did not wait long. Kimi fell asleep in her wheelchair.

But Val was wide awake, Sarah saw, still with that unasked question. Sarah spoke in the most appropriate language--the Old Language. "Mama, she saw Hotaru healing someone today."

"She is a sensitive?" asked her mother.

Sarah nodded. "I do not want her to be scared of us. I do not want Valentina to go away."

Auntie Naru could also speak the Old Language, even if she did not know of her old life. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, Auntie. Yes Mama."

Auntie Naru made some very slight gestures. "They will stay asleep."

Sarah looked into Valentina's widening eyes, and asked, "You saw something when Hotaru was with that boy today?"

Valentina said, "Yes . . . I think. I don't know."

"Are you starting to believe some of the stories they tell about Sarah?" asked her mother.

Valentina said, "Maybe . . . "

Sarah sighed. _What can I say?_ Instead, she looked over at Kimi's slumped form. She went to Kimi, and picked her up. She transformed, and folded Kimi into the safety of her dark wings, and willed some of her energy to flow into her sister. Then she returned Kimi carefully to her wheelchair. She transformed back, and staggered--she had given Kimi more than she'd thought.

But Valentina did exactly the right thing: she ran to Sarah to hold her up.

"Thanks," said Sarah. "Our secret, OK? Pinkie swear?"

"Pinkie swear."

Sarah hooked pinkies with her friend. Then she looked back to her mother and Auntie Naru--and beyond them. Standing in the doorway was Mr. Descartes . . .

* * *

Andrea Besson found Roland in an unsufferably good mood when he came the next day. She guessed why, and hoped Roland wouldn't force the details into her unwilling ears. But, when they finally had a really private moment in the incredibly busy house, Descartes launched into his story--not of his connubial interlude, but of a _dream _he had had. "What do you think of it, my friend?"

Besson shrugged. "I am your business manager. Should I hire you a psychiatrist to tell you what it means?"

"I will let you know . . . now, tell me again why you want me to cancel the Sydney performance and go to . . ."

* * *

**Chapter 15: A Mismatched Woman**

ONE DRIZZLY APRIL SATURDAY, when Laura was in San Francisco representing her company at some convention, John Elder Shaw piled Brandy and Doris in his car and drove to one of Orlando's older malls, where a movie they just _had_ to see (again) was still playing. John discovered that parking was very tight; much of the lot was torn up and fenced off. He had to park quite far away from an entrance.

As he got out in the rain, and waited for the girls to scoot out under his umbrella, he saw a woman with a girl about Brandy's age and an infant. They were getting out of a car with some custom work, in the next row over. The woman didn't seem to match anything. She didn't really match the car. She didn't match her youthful clothes, though she was not farcical in them. And, she didn't match her children--she was white. She noticed him staring at her. He smiled, and nodded. She nodded back; he couldn't really guage her reaction, except that it wasn't particularly guarded. Brandy and Doris finally got out, and they more or less followed the woman into the mall.

Once inside, Shaw discovered he was at the far end from the theaters. Brandy whined that they would be late. Shaw had a painful forced march to the ticket line. He didn't remember passing the woman, but she got in line behind him and the girls. She smiled courteously to him. Brandy struck up a conversation with the girl because they had the same pendant.

Soon they were up to the ticket booth. Shaw shoved his card through and said, "One adult, two children."

The pimply boy behind the window said, "I'm sorry, cash only." He shoved the card out.

"Cash?" said Shaw.

"Our card readers are down," said pimple-face.

"D . . ." Shaw caught himself. He turned to his girls. "I'm going to have to go to the ATM."

"But we'll be _la-a-a-te_," said Brandy.

"I'll cover it," said the woman, pressing up to the window. "Here. For me and Jarma, and them. Enough?"

"Yeah, sure," said pimple-face.

Shaw wanted to protest, but the girls were _so_ anxious to get in . . .

The movie the girls wanted to see was another of the "magic girl" movies. The theater was full of screaming kids, mostly girls, and it was not surprising that the woman took her baby back out after a fairly short interval. Shaw followed her out, but she went straight to the Ladie's room. He ducked out of the theater to visit the ATM. When he returned, he found the woman seated on a bench in the lobby, feeding the infant from a bottle. He went up to her, and offered her money. "Here."

"Oh . . . thank you . . . uh, just a second." She freed a hand to take the bill. "I'll get your change in a minute." She had a nasal twang to her voice, not severe, but noticiable.

"No, that's fine." Shaw felt himself warming toward the woman, not something that happened that often. "Let me guess, New York?"

"Guilty as charged," said the woman, grinning. "Want to sit?" She moved to one side of the bench.

"Yes, thanks." He settled down, and reached down to rub his sore knee and calf.

"Are you OK?" asked the woman.

"Oh, sure," Shaw answered, not liking her tone. _I'm not _that_ old! _he thought. Sitting up, he said, "What do you think of the movie?"

The woman said, "The movie? Not much. I'm here because of Jarma."

"Same here." He shook his head. "Laura's out of town. I would probably be here if she was, though. She _hates _these matinees."

"Your wife?"

"No, my daughter . . . I'm a widower."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman, with real sympathy in her voice.

Shaw said, "No need, Jean's been gone close to ten years now . . . I suppose your husband wouldn't come?"

"I'm not married."

"Oh . . . Sorry, I didn't mean--"

The woman shrugged. "Divorced. Jarma isn't mine; her mother's working today. And Persephone here, her mother's working too. Out of town; she won't be back until tomorrow."

Shaw felt awkward. Then he said, "My name's John Shaw . . . "

* * *

John Shaw spent the rest of that afternoon getting to know Lorraine Tiggs. It would be weeks before he admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, though.

By the end of May, it was routine: Every Saturday, Shaw would drive Lorraine's Suburban over to Lorraine's and pick her up for an afternoon at the movies, usually with the infant she minded and Jarma and one to three other kids belonging to Laura's friends or Lorraine's. Otherwise, Lorraine was a voice on the phone. Once she met the infant's mother, an absolutely gorgeous woman who was married to (but apparently separated from) Lorraine's ex-husband. Lorraine did not explain that arrangement much, though it was apparent she admired the woman--she was a pilot, flying mostly charters. But mostly what Lorraine liked to hear were anecdotes from his years on the Oakland PD. Shaw had an abundant store of them. He had nothing to hide, except for the last couple of years . . . and, while he could never forget that part of his life, he recalled it less and less.

One evening after the kids were in bed, Laura asked, "When are you going to have your girlfriend over for dinner?"

"Girlfriend?" Shaw protested. "Lorraine's no such thing!"

"Uh-huh," replied Laura, in exactly the same tone her mother would have used.

With that thought in mind, Shaw decided to give in gracefully.

* * *

When John Shaw came to pick up Lorraine at the apartment she shared with the other Mrs. Tiggs, Lorraine wasn't ready yet. Shaw found himself alone with the woman. She was polite, but she was absorbed in sewing something--a dress. With time and silence on his hands, Shaw took his first close look at the place. Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the pictures scattered around. Picking up one, he said, "Do you mind?"

"No," replied the woman in her soft, crystal-clear voice. "Pictures are to be looked at." She had hardly glanced up from her work.

Shaw did not think he had recieved approval, exactly, but he continued to examine the pictures. Many were of children; there were also some of adults, often with children. There was one that struck him, for some reason: a blond woman with dark-skinned children. He thought, _I've met her somewhere, but . . . where? When?_

"Mr. Shaw?"

Shaw had been so lost in thought that he did not notice that the sewing machine had stopped. The woman was standing beside him, holding the dress she had been working on. He showed her the picture and said, "I think I've seen her before. Family?"

The woman replied, "Aino-san is an old friend, almost like family. You were a policeman in Oakland?"

Shaw nodded. "You heard that from Lorraine?"

"Yes . . . Aino-san is a nurse there. Perhaps you met her when you were at a hospital."

Shaw frowned as he set the picture down. "I was in and out there . . ." He saw she did not understand. "In and out of consciousness . . . You don't know about that, do you?" The woman shook her head. Shaw told the tale of how he had gotten caught in a shootout when the druglord Marvell Jones had been assassinated in Oakland's Highland Hospital. It was a familiar spiel to him; he was telling the short, sardonic version to the woman. But she interupted him.

"So, you were there when Aino-san was made a widow," said the woman.

"I was?" blurted Shaw, not understanding.

"Aino-san was married to the brother of your gang leader. He was killed there, too. And his sister, who had done no wrong." She cast her eyes down. After a silent moment, she said, "The dress is ready. I will give it to Lorraine, and you can go in a little while."

* * *

The dinner went off well enough--in fact, better than Shaw had expected. Lorraine answered Laura's grilling without resentment, winning sympathy for her losing fight to have children of her own. Lorraine, in fact, was quite talkative on her own as the evening went on, revealing more about her ex-husband than she ever had to Shaw.

The children were in bed when Laura asked the question Shaw had never allowed himself to ask Lorraine, heretofore so sensitive about her ex. "So, why did Mr. Tiggs leave the FBI? If I may ask."

Lorraine glanced at John in a way she rarely did, and took a long sip of her drink. Then she turned back to Laura and said, "Something went wrong in that big undercover assignment I told you about."

"Went wrong?" Laura bored in. "What went wrong? Do you know?"

Lorraine drained her glass and set it down, shaking her head. "I don't really _know_ anything for sure. Martin will never talk about it. But what I _think_ happened is that someone ratted on Martin. And instead of killing him, Mr. Jones figured out a way to frame Martin. Make it look like he was really working for Mr. Jones instead of the FBI." 

"Mr. Jones?" asked Shaw.

"Yeah, the same Mr. Jones you knew. Knew about, I mean." Lorraine poured another drink, and drank some of it. "All I really know about him is that he ruined Martin." She drank a little more, and turned to Shaw. "John, you never told me much about Marvell Jones. Is it because he got you all shot up?"

After a moment, Shaw shrugged. "Maybe so . . . I spent a lot of time following him around when I was in the OPD the last couple of years." He shook his head. "Never got anything out of it. He was maybe the smartest drug boss we ever had. Lucky, too, until the end." Shaw took a drink of his own.

There was silence. Laura looked at Shaw, then at Lorraine, and drained her glass. Then she said, "It's late for me. I need to get an early start tomorrow . . . Lorraine, would you like to stay over?" Laura picked up the nearly-empty bottle, subtly suggesting that driving was not a good option.

Lorraine set down her drink, without finishing it. "You are so kind, but I should go home. Setsuna has to leave early. I need to be home to look after Perry . . . I'll take a cab home."

Laura picked up the tray, and, with a glance, got her father to set down his glass. "Can I get you anything else?"

Lorraine said, "Well . . . do you have tea? The green stuff?"

Laura said, "I think so . . . yes. I'll leave it out in the kitchen for you. Do you want me to put a kettle on?"

"No, I'll do it," said Lorraine, getting up. "I'd better call for the cab now."

John Shaw let them leave the living room and sat alone for a few minutes, thinking about something he would never speak of. Laura came back, kissed him, and said, "I'm really going to bed now, Daddy."

"So, what do you think, is she a keeper?" he said lowly.

Laura nodded slowly. She leaned down, and whispered, "I like her. But you'll have to work to get her. She's really not over her ex." She shook her head, and said in a more normal voice, "Have you ever met Mr. Tiggs?"

"No . . ." He shook his head, and chuckled, inappropriately.

"Daddy?"

Shaw said, "I'm sure I saw him when he was with Jones. But I don't know who he was. Didn't know he was FBI, of course. Feds don't tell local cops _anything_ they don't have to."

Laura kissed him again. "Don't stay up too late, Daddy." Then she left.

Shaw waited a few moments more before going to the kitchen. He found Lorraine standing up, sipping from a cup. She noticed he was there, and said, "Want some?"

He started to shake his head, but . . . "Yes."

She spooned loose tea into a strainer and poured hot water through it into a cup. Then she handed the cup to Shaw. "Setsuna uses powdered tea most of the time."

"Oh?" He was not terribly interested in tea.

"Not instant. Expensive stuff from Japan." She sipped, making a face. "I guess it's pretty gross at first, but you get to like it. Or you get used to it, anyway . . . "

Shaw sipped the hot liquid. It was no worse than half the bad coffee he had downed to stay awake, but its strangeness made him grimace for a moment. "I suppose you can get used to anything."

Lorraine got a faraway look, and a strange smile. Then she said, "I _guess_ . . ." drawing out the phrase. Then she returned from whatever reverie she was in, and said, "I'm sorry I brought up Jones. I guess you don't like to think about that much. You never talk about it."

He took another sip. The tea was strong, and it seemed to clear his head. "I guess it had to come up sometime . . . did you ever meet any of Ms. Meiou's friends?"

Lorraine said, "Not yet, except for one of them . . . I've talked a little bit on the phone with a few of them. Do you mean the nurse? The one you recognized?"

_The Meiou woman told her. _"Yes. I suppose I do."

Lorraine said, "No, I've never spoken with her. Sarah thinks a lot of her. One of her kids is something like Sarah's half-sister."

"Sarah?"

Lorraine sipped some more. "Sarah's the daughter of one of Setsuna's friends. Setsuna used to fly her over here for a day sometimes when she had a San Francisco flight. Not for a long while, though . . . some creep almost killed her little sister. Sarah spends most of her time with her sister now, from what I hear." She finished the cup, and began to prepare another. "Nice kid. Pushy, but a nice kid. She's _really_ got a touch with babies."

"What did she tell you about the nurse?" asked Shaw.

Lorraine said, "Sarah told me she's really broken up about losing her husband. He was some kind of cripple, I think."

Shaw said, "He was one of Marvell Jones' brothers. I did hear he married his nurse. But I didn't know who she was."

"Really? . . . Why do you want to know about her so much?"

Shaw took a long sip before answering. "I'm not sure . . . I _almost _remember something about her. I know I met her, but . . . that's all."

Lorraine didn't look entirely satisfied. "Well, I guess you can meet her if you really _want_ to. Most of Setsuna's friends are supposed to be coming here to visit in a while."

"Really?" said Shaw.

"Yes . . . in July, I think. After school is out. Most of them have kids in school." Lorraine took a slow, perhaps contemplative sip. Her tone changed. "Did you see any _angel girls_ in California? I heard a lot of stories. And I saw that French video. Wasn't that from Oakland? Supposed to be from there?" She wasn't serious now; Shaw thought she was trying to brighten the conversation up, and move on from an uncomfortable subject.

Shaw said, "Well, I suppose something really happened at the lake. I was miles away when it went down." That was true; he'd tailed Marvell Jones into the hills. "But there were a couple of times . . ."

"A couple of times?" Lorraine was really surprised.

"Yes . . . The first time I was working vice. We were working a sting, picking up Johns who were cruising San Pablo--that's one of the main streets there. We also had some hookers disappearing; found one dead . . . anyway, it was night, and I saw a couple of big things flying. Only for a second, but I saw them." He sipped, and smiled. "Didn't tell my partner. I think he saw them too, but we didn't tell anyone."

Lorraine reached out to hold his hand. "And the other time?"

He closed his eyes. "It was after I was shot. Maybe I was seeing things, but it seemed real . . . Three of them were over me, close, very close. One of them touched me, and I felt . . . something like nothing else . . . and there was another one further off. She was crying. She was kneeling down and crying . . . " He did not speak for a moment. "And that's it. The next thing I remember . . . that I _really_ remember for sure was four days after I was shot."

Lorraine kissed him on the cheek. John Shaw opened his eyes--and saw not only Lorraine, but Laura, standing in her robe. Laura said, "I saw the taxi pull up."

"Thanks," said Lorraine. She turned to Shaw and said, "I'd stay, but I really need to take care of Perry. OK?"

"OK," replied Shaw, and watched her walk out.

Laura started to put away the tea, and said, "Do you want any more?"

"No."

She put away the tea, and said, "You never told me that, Daddy. About seeing angels at the hospital."

"No."

"Why?"

Shaw answered, "Like I told her, it probably didn't really happen."

Laura said, "But you told her. Why? Why now?"

"Damned if I know." And John Elder Shaw believed that wholeheartedly. 

* * *

**Chapter 16: A Prodigal Father**

DEJA KUMADA entered her home with her mind set on a sour pickle. Finals were approaching, and she had a term paper to finish, but she deserved a small bribe to herself before knuckling down, and Deja had decided that it would be a sour pickle before dinner. Not a _big _one, necessarily, but a whole one . . . she headed for the kitchen without pausing or calling out.

And then she stopped. There was someone in her kitchen, a stranger. He was an older man, not menacing-looking in any way, but a stranger, alone in her kitchen, perhaps even alone in her house, because she had not found anyone else at home yet. Deja asked, "Who are you? One of Mom's clients?" Sometimes her mother brought one of her law clients home. It was unlikely he was a martial arts student of her father.

He spoke in Japanese. "You are already becoming a young woman?"

Deja asked again, this time in Japanese. "Who are you? Why are you here? I don't know you." She found her hand was on her watch, ready to press the studs that would summon help--Chibi Moon, almost instantly. The old man still did not seem much of a threat, but . . .

Deja started. Hands were on her shoulders.

"He has a _right_ to be here," said her mother, in English.

Deja took her hand away from her watch slowly. "_Okasan_, who is he?"

"He is my father, Deja-chan. He is your grandfather."

The man opened his arms and smiled broadly. Deja went to him and accepted his embrace, trying not to blurt out the many questions suddenly in her mind. He released the girl and said, "You are a fine girl. You must be breaking hearts already, Deja-chan."

"Maybe I have broken a few hearts," replied Deja.

"Deja-chan is an excellent student," said her mother. "She is one year ahead of her age group."

Deja blushed. "Yes, Grandfather . . . I must do schoolwork now." She retreated from the kitchen and the grandfather her mother never spoke of.

* * *

Hino Saburo kept his smile as the child retreated from him. _She knows little or nothing about me,_ he thought. That did not surprise him. When the child was gone, he turned to his daughter. "She is much older than I imagined."

His daughter said nothing for a moment. She refilled his teacup and replaced the kettle before speaking again, without turning back to face him. "Yes, she is a love-child, if that is what you mean. But she is Yuuichirou's, if that is what you were going to ask next."

"You are blunt as ever, Rei-chan." He took a leisurely sip, stretching out the moment before making his next point. "She is a fine child. More polite than her mother."

He saw his daughter's shoulders suddenly tighten, then loosen, slowly. She turned to face him. "My husband will be home soon. Let us settle our business before then, please?"

"Business? What _business_ do I have here? I have not seen you for years. Is it so hard to believe that I just want to visit my family?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Tell me the truth."

He took another long "sip," really just wetting his lips, without taking his eyes off her. "I am to accompany our Ambassador to a White House performance. Michiru is performing with that Frenchman. I have discovered you will be present." He took a genuine drink. "It would be well if we were not discovered to be strangers there."

Rei regarded him for a moment, then sat down across the table from him. "I don't have my official invitation yet."

He said, "But you are not surprised . . . You _are _going, aren't you?"

Rei said, "Yes. It is a great honor for Keiou-san. Of course I will go . . . I must."

The veteran politician regarded his daughter. She seemed distant, in an unexpected way. He said, "It is a great honor for you, also." Taking another sip, he wondered what she was thinking. But she didn't seem to be angry with him now, so he put that question aside. Instead, he set his cup down and made a show of looking about. "This is a wonderful home. How did you get it? I understand real estate here is almost as bad as in Tokyo."

His daughter answered, still without quite looking at him. "It is not as bad as Tokyo, but it is for America. The woman who lived here passed away. My friend Aino-san the nurse cared for her earlier and became friends with her family. Her daughter wants to return here to live when she can, but now she works somewhere in Texas. So, she rents this place to us." She paused for a moment, seeming to grow a little more distant. "I suppose we should buy a home. Yuuichirou can afford it."

"You lived with your friends for a long time, I understand. Why did you decide to move out?"

Now his daughter seemed to return to the scene. She looked at him, making real eye contact, and actually smiled slightly. "I was arguing with the housekeeper all the time."

* * *

Deja did not find any strangers sitting with Sarah at lunch. But perhaps Sarah was more than enough. "What is it with you today? I heard from Val you fell asleep."

Deja was caught in the middle of a yawn by that, and she flushed with embarrassment. "I got hardly any sleep. I had to finish my paper."

"_You _tried to do it all at the last minute? What are you doing, picking up my bad habits?"

Deja shook her head. "I didn't have that much left to do, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about Grandfather Hino."

Sarah shrugged as she munched. "Why should he bother you so much?"

"I don't know . . . he is a stranger to me, Chibi-usa."

Sarah frowned; she did not like being called that by Deja. But she said nothing about it. Instead, after swallowing her next mouthful, she leaned over and whispered, "Do you think he has some secret? Do you want me to--"

"No, don't do that, please."

Sarah straightened up. "Okay, I won't . . . Hey, can I have part of that pickle?"

* * *

Hino Saburo watched his son-in-law make a showy yawn and listened to him say, "I'm for bed now."

His daughter glanced up from the book she was reading and said, "I'm going to stay up awhile." Her husband was already standing by her. He bent down to kiss her, and then left the room. Just as he exited, he glanced back for an instant, and Saburo saw something more complicated in his expression than he had seen. 

When Saburo was sure that they were alone, he said, "He could make a good politician."

Rei closed her book and responded with some irritation, "Why would you say that? He is not like you."

He shifted so that his body more nearly faced his daughter's. "He knows how to talk around things. And he knows how to make a compromise." He smiled. "I saw him patch up a quarrel between that housekeeper you cannot abide and your friend Mrs. Urawa today. It was masterful. He got both of them mad at him, and they forgot they were mad at one another . . . I am sure that is what he intended to do."

Rei's irritation subsided somewhat. "There is more to my Yuuichirou than you think."

"I never doubted that. You expect a lot from a man." 

His daughter nodded in a very American way, disturbing him slightly. Then, tapping on her book, she said, "I really need to read more of this, Father. I have a hearing in the morning."

"Will that really help? More than sleep?" He gathered up the Japanese papers he had been reading and started to get up.

Then Rei surprised him, by saying, "I think you are right." She sighed. Then she said, "Are you really interested? You haven't asked much about my work."

Hino Saburo settled back. "I'm ready to listen now."

As Rei began to talk, her father sensed she was looking a little past him. "It is a deportation hearing."

"Your client has committed some crime?"

Rei shook her head, again, in a way that showed she had picked up more American ways than he cared for. "Mr. Chu entered this country illegally and has worked without the proper permits, but that is all."

"That does not sound so bad."

Rei's focus clearly was on himself now, not peering past him to the hearing. "Our country is not so very welcoming of other people."

"Perhaps, but we are small and very crowded. America is not." He paused for a moment. "Or do I misunderstand? Do you mean 'America' when you say 'our country?'"

Rei smiled wryly. "You are sharp, Father. I meant Japan just now. But I am quite an American now. Perhaps I should change my citizenship." Her focus changed again, but it was not the same as before. "Deja certainly is American. She is more Japanese in her ways than any of her friends, the children of my old friends from Japan. But she will never be anything but an American. She could live in Japan for the rest of her life, but that would not change." She looked away, ostensibly to set down her book. "I have brought her with me to Japan several times. No one mistakes her for a Japanese."

A silence intervened. Before it went on too long, Hino Saburo said, "I suppose I could have visited you, also." He rose, and began to make his way to bed.

But Rei called out from behind him. "Do you want to come to the hearing tomorrow?"

He stopped for a moment. "Yes. I will come with you." He took another step, but then stopped and turned to face his daughter. "Could you answer a question, before I go?"

"You may ask."

"Since I have heard that you named your new child after your husband's mother, I wondered why you did not name Deja-chan after your mother."

Rei took a moment to answer, or perhaps to decide to answer. "I don't know."

He regarded her for a moment, seeing how much she looked like her mother, before the final illness. He began once again to leave, but paused again, and asked, "Why _did_ you choose the name Deja? I have never heard of such a name."

After a moment, Rei smiled oddly, and said, "Some day I will tell you. But not now."

He took a longer time to get to sleep that night because of that odd smile. For some reason, it _seemed_ important. At first he thought it was one of his intuitions, a gift of that sense which had generally served him so well in a long, slippery career. But, in the end, he decided it must just be the discomfort of having Rei pushing him off-balance. His intuition had not served him well enough for some time.

He finally passed into sleep mulling over one of the dirtier details of his career.

* * *

Rei was not able to save her client; Mr. Chu was to be deported, along with most of the others processed that Friday.

Usually, when she had business in San Francisco, Rei took a train to downtown and caught a cab. But because the hearing was _supposed_ to be quite early, she had picked up Mr. Chu in her car and braved the morning commute to be sure he was not late. As it turned out, his hearing did not actually come up until well after the lunch break. Perhaps it would have gone better if Mr. Chu had had his hearing in the morning, when cases were not being rushed through as frantically.

When making her last farewell with Mr. Chu, who would be flown back to China after a night's detention, Rei lost track of her father. She had to call in the building security officers to find him. They did, after a long delay.

By the time Rei eased onto the lower span of the Bay Bridge, bound for home, San Francisco was well within the accustomed torture of the afternoon commute. Her father said nothing during the whole ordeal. Rei was sorely tempted to lash out, to fill the silence with things she had wanted to shout at her father for nearly two decades. But he was her father . . . and he hadn't asked her any more questions about when and where Deja had been born. If she allowed him to know the truth about that, more than her own life could unravel . . .

* * *

Yuuichirou asked Rei, "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed. I'm going over to Usagi's." She paused to go to him and give him a comforting kiss. "Go back to sleep. I may be gone for a long while."

"What is it? A mission?"

"No," she said, gently pushing him down onto the bed. "I just need to talk with Usagi."

Yuuichirou asked, "Can't you wait until tomorrow?"

"I could, but I won't . . . unless Usagi isn't up. Then I'll come right back. Please, be quiet. I don't want to wake up the children. Or my father."

* * *

To Rei's relief, the lights were on in the back. But instead of Usagi's voice, or even Olivia's, Michiru answered. Rei went directly to the point. "I want to visit Usagi, if she is still awake."

"She is . . . Come in. There is something I want to talk with you about."

* * *

Hino Saburo had heard the front door open and close, and recognized his daughter's footsteps down the walk. But he didn't get up until the baby started crying, and he heard his son-in-law moving about. After a decent delay, he went downstairs, where he found Yuuichirou trying to tend to the baby. The baby was taking its bottle, but it was still unhappy, still making little grunts of protest, very much like another baby girl . . . who wasn't here to tend to her daughter. "I think she wants her _okasan_. Where is Rei-chan?" he asked of his son-in-law.

Yuuichirou said, "She went over to see Mrs. Chiba."

"Mrs. Chiba? At this hour? Whatever for?"

His son-in-law said, "Maybe to talk over losing her case today. Mrs. Chiba is her oldest friend. They were friends when I met your daughter." He began a long yarn about how he had first met Rei at the temple her mother's father ran, and how he had started studying the martial arts under the strange old man. By now, Hino-san knew that his son-in-law could stretch out such a tale for hours if he needed to. He also knew that Yuuichirou was trying to distract him. But the baby began to fuss worse and worse until finally, when Yuuichirou stopped his tale altogether to try to comfort the child.

Hino would have taken that opportunity to inject his own comment, but Deja appeared. It would not do to criticize Rei in front of Deja, so he held his tongue and observed. He watched and listened while Deja took the baby, which responded, though it was still not entirely satisfied.

Still, the baby was quiet enough for Yuuichirou to start his interminiable story again. He was still telling it over an hour later, when Rei finally returned. The baby at last fell into a satisfied sleep after a few minutes in the arms of its mother, and everyone went off to bed, leaving another question in Hino Saburo's mind: _What was so important that Rei went off in the dead of night?_ There were so many questions: Why had Rei come to America? Why was crippled Mrs. Chiba so important? And, above all, how could she have had Deja without his knowledge? For Deja had to have born before Rei had left Japan. That was one thing that his son-in-law did not mention in his story. Perhaps it was out of propriety, but . . .

At last he fell asleep. He dreamt of his wife. It should have been a pleasant dream; there were no nightmarish images, and his wife was as she was when they were courting, not wasted as she was at the end. But he woke feeling unrested, and uneasy. Hino Saburo was much too world-wise to let himself believe in omens. But he had noticed that when he dreamed of his wife, some change was likely to follow, some unexpected event would disrupt his life.

He would have rather slept in. But he appeared at breakfast, where Deja mentioned she was going to practice along with Michiru and the talented daughter Michiru's partner had had by the Frenchman_. _Titania was being mentioned in some of the Japanese papers now. He understood that this was something important to Deja, even if she did not possess the rare talent of the others. So Hino Saburo accompanied Deja and her parents as they set out for another visit to the mansion.

* * *

The "practice" was more of an informal recital this day. Rei and her family were not the only visitors to the mansion this morning. Some were neighbors; more were some of the old Mercurius bunch who had worked with Umino and Sumi when Mercurius was small enough to fit in the basement. There were actually enough people to form something like a crowd, even at one end of the enormous main room.

Nevertheless, Rei noticed that Usagi was slipping away. Hotaru was pushing her chair, which made no noise. Rei thought idly, _Hotaru is using her silence powers_ as she herself began to slip back. Rei caught the eyes of Deja. She expected her daughter might be disappointed that she was leaving, or perhaps put it down to having to mind little Tomiko-chan. Instead, Rei suspected she saw understanding in her daughter's eyes.

Rei could not read her father's eyes; they were closed. He was asleep. _Did Usagi or Naru put him to sleep? Or is he just bored?_

Bigger questions than that were waiting. As soon as she was clear of the crowd, Rei made briskly for the elevator. Hotaru was waiting. Usagi was slumped, eyes closed. As soon as the doors closed and they started up, Rei asked, "Are you falling asleep?"

Usagi answered without looking up. "No, but I'm tired. Reading your father was very difficult."

Rei had exhausted her courtesy for the time being. Instead of offering the sympathy she felt, she asked her next question. "Why has he really come?"

Usagi answered, "As he told you. He does not want to be a stranger."

"Does he suspect--"

"No," said Usagi, bringing up her face and looking into Rei's eyes. "He does not really believe in the _senshi._ Especially the stories from here."

Rei laughed, not in a happy way. "So, the old pirate suspects nothing. I should have known. If he suspected the truth, he would be busy working to gain advantage from it." The doors opened; while Hotaru rolled Usagi out of the elevator, Rei took a moment to take out a tissue and blot her eyes. She took a bit longer than she wished; Usagi and Hotaru were staring at her when she finished.

"Why are you crying, Auntie?" asked Hotaru, politely, respectfully.

"Yes. Why?" repeated Usagi, with some urgency. 

Rei considered dissembling for a moment, but only a moment. Usagi could read hearts well, even without using her special powers, and nothing stung Hotaru worse than a lie. So she answered: "It is so difficult being with my father . . . So many things I want to say, so many questions, and yet . . . I cannot." Rei caught sight of Chibi-Usa, as she always thought of her, through the nursery door, tending an infant. That brought another thought. "Should I tell him? Now, before . . . ?" Rei went to the rail and looked down. Her father still lolled in sleep while Michiru and the girls performed.

Hotaru rolled Usagi away, neither of them saying anything. Rei spent a few a few moments looking at her father down below. Then she went to the nursery, to check on Tomiko-chan and to rejoin Usagi. But Usagi was busy with her twins, and there was a neighbor, someone who did not know, there with her own baby, and the older Basque woman who looked after Michiru and Haruka's children. So there would be no more said of the problem she had with her father.

Luna was also there, probably hoping that the latest charms would keep Celeste from shapechanging, or at least keep people from noticing her . . .

Rei glanced at her watch, and did a mental calculation. She guessed that Mr. Chu must be somewhere near Hawaii now. No leis waiting for him, though. There would be police waiting for him in China, though, and perhaps some time in jail there.

She picked up Tomiko-chan.

* * *

Rei was rubbing linament into Yuuichirou's back when Deja walked into the room. Rei was about to remind her daughter of her manners when she saw how serious Deja's face was.

Deja walked up to the bed, covered with towels to keep it clean, and asked, lowly, "Are you hurt badly, _otousan_?"

"Not too badly," said Yuuichirou, stretching out a hand to pat her. "But my students are getting a little too good." Yuuichirou saw most of his martial-arts students on Saturday; that is why he had missed the little recital.

Deja kissed him, and then looked up at Rei, who was astride her husband's back. "Am I the reason you and Grandfather don't get along?"

Rei sucked in her breath. She had not expected this question, now. "No."

Yuuichirou said, "Your grandfather loves you very much, Deja-chan. He is always asking me about you."

"Then why do you never talk with each other, _okasan_?"

Rei kneaded Yuuichirou's back for a moment or two before trying to answer. "We haven't spoken much for a very long time, Deja-chan."

"Why?"

Rei hesitated again, but Deja was not going to let it go. "He was never around much while _okasan_ was alive. And after . . . after _okasan_ died, I saw him only a few times a year. Less, as I got older." She shook her head. "So, you see, your grandfather did not stay away because of you. He stayed away long before you came along, Deja-chan."

Yuuichirou spoke after Rei and Deja did not. "Being gone all the time isn't a big deal in Japan, you know. Especially for an important man like your grandfather. And I think . . ." He put his hand under Deja's chin. "I think maybe it was hard for him to see your motherbecause she is so like her mother. And you are a lot like your mother, you know?" Yuuichirou ruffled his daughter's hair. "But like I told you, he loves you very, very much. I think maybe he is very sorry he did not meet you before."

"Yes," said Rei, with a slight crack in her voice. "Maybe he is sorry." She climbed off Yuuichirou and the bed, knelt down, and embraced and kissed Deja. "It has been a long day. We are for sleep soon, and I think you should be, too."

Deja kissed her mother and then her father, and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Resuming her position, Rei spent several minutes kneading Yuuichirou's battered body before asking, "Do you think he is really sorry? After all this time?"

Yuuichirou shrugged, rather stiffly. "Why not? You saw how proud he looked when Deja was playing today, didn't you?"

After a moment, Rei said "Yes . . . but I didn't notice then." 

"Maybe he didn't notice how sorry he was . . . until now."

* * *

Next: Dinner at the White House, and a performance. There are unexpected guests . . . 

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	5. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Five**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1])  


_...... Thought Quotation_

**Chapter 17: Sumpter**

White House, Washington, DC 

Charles Sumpter, Chief of White House Security in the current organization, hated paperwork more than the average man. He couldn't avoid it, of course, so he had come up with ways to cope with it. One of them was to come in early and clear as much of it as he could before the day was too far gone. Of course, someone would always interrupt before he had finished what he had hoped to finish, but there was that much less to do at the end of the day. And the interruption was that much more likely to be welcome.

This morning, the crucial interruption was provided by Jean Lawrence, the Chief of Protocol.

The last Chief of Protocol had been, in the private opinion of Charles Sumpter, a self-important pain. Ms. Lawrence was proving a pleasant surprise, although he felt a bit uncomfortable at times with her. When she came into his office, he thought it was one of those times.

"Aren't you coming to the briefing? For tonight, I mean?" asked the Chief of Protocol, closing the door.

Sumpter glanced up from his work. "I already looked through your plan. I'm sure you'll give the President a wonderful rundown on the guests, but I don't have to know all that stuff." Sumpter picked up another paper for consideration.

Lawrence said, "Oh, I think we'll have a little more for your entertainment . . . Do you have anything new from the FBI?"

Sumpter lowered his paper. "No. Should I?"

Lawrence said, "You might think so. Come to the briefing. The _Acting_ Director of the Bureau is coming."

That was it for the paperwork. Sumpter tossed his work back into the "In" basket, shook his head, and smiled. Then he pressed a button on his intercom and asked, "Mr. Traficante, is Director Kerkorian on the premises?"

"Ahhh . . . she hasn't checked through anywhere. Do you want a call when she comes?"

"No, thank you. That's all." Sumpter made sure the intercom was off, and then turned to Ms. Lawrence. "How do you know she's coming?"

"Her office called a few minutes ago," said Lawrence.

Sumpter said, "Her office called _your_ office," and shook his head. "She wants to see the President. Any idea what about?"

Lawrence shrugged. "Something important enough for her to come herself, I presume. Well, are you coming?"

"Yeah, sure." Sumpter rose. "Thanks for thinking of me."

The Chief of Protocol went to the door, but before opening it, she said to Sumpter, "I want to be sure the _Acting_ Director has a full audience."

* * *

The Acting Director (who was such because her predecessor had made the unexpected career move of dying in his sleep some weeks earlier) was not at the briefing when it began.

Sumpter had not been lying when he said he knew what he had to know before the briefing, at least from the Chief of Protocol. He was aware that the guests providing the entertainment were classical musicians, and that they were being indulged an extraordinary number of personal guests, including many children--including infants. The Secretary of State was obviously surprised by this: he had undoubtably pictured an occasion for fine arts and fine feelings, suitable for laying a little diplomatic groundwork. Sumpter had already done his part of the work, as he explained briefly. "We're making the Blue Room into a temporary nursery. So we're shutting down the tours early to get ready."

The Secretary of State spoke up. "Why in the world are we having all these children?"

The Chief of Protocol shrugged theatrically. "We are having all these children to get Michiru. It was a given she would bring her own and her companion's children. Then we approved her guest list, and then we found out about _their_ children."

The President said, "This sounds like the old story about the gypsy making nail soup."

"It must seem very much like that, Madame President," Ms. Lawrence remarked. "Most Japanese mothers I've known weren't much for baby-sitters." Then the Chief of Protocol went on to the most politically important guests: the Foreign Ministers of France and Japan. The Chief of Protocol had met both before; she had served in the Paris and the Tokyo Embassies. Ms. Lawrence did not press her advantage over the Secretary of State, who had smaller experience of France and none of Japan.

As the Chief of Protocol was pointing to the wall display and saying, "And here we have a last-minute addition, one Saburo Hino," the Acting Director came in, along with a man Sumpter had never seen. He sported an FBI badge, one for an Agent, not a Special Agent; Sumpter could spot the difference instantly by now. The Agent was carrying a laptop computer with telltale ease, marking him as a computer age man.

The Chief of Protocol changed her tone to ask, "Do you have something to say now, Director Kerkorian?" There was no mockery at all in her voice, but the politeness had an edge to it that no one there was going to miss, not even Sumpter.

"Please, finish what you were saying," replied the Acting Director. "We can wait."

"Thank you." The Chief of Protocol gestured again toward the wall display. "As I was saying, the last guest I have some concern about is our Mr. Hino here. He's the last addition to the guest list. I don't believe Mr. Hino has ever held a major post in any government I've known of. However, I do know he had a reputation as a good man to see if you had a problem. In other words, he was a fixer. Perhaps he still is." Jean Lawrence shifted her tone again. "Has the Bureau turned up anything interesting about Mr. Hino?"

The Agent had, in the meantime, set up his laptop and connected it under the table. The Acting Director replied to Ms. Lawrence. "Mr. Hino checked out, but Agent Ballin noticed some things about some of your other guests which you might want to know about. Madame President, may Agent Ballin take over the presentation for a few moments?"

The President replied, "I think we are ready to listen. Tell us what you think we need to know."

The new Agent said, "Thank you, Madame President." He typed something, and a new image appeared on the wallscreen: a blond woman. It was a bad photo, but it did not obscure the beauty of its subject, an oriental woman affecting blonde hair. "This is Minako Jones. She has no criminal record, so she passed the background check. _However," _the Agent continued as the image changed again, "Her late husband here has an arrest record . . . " The display showed a handsome young man of mostly African features making the best of a pair of booking shots; then changed to show another man of similar features but a much more unsettling demeanor. " . . . and his brother Marvell Jones here, also deceased, was reputed to be the head of a very large, very successful criminal syndicate based on drug trafficking."

The room became silent for a moment. Sumpter observed that the Acting Director of the FBI allowed herself just a moment of gloat looking at the Chief of Protocol, and wondered for a moment why the women were enemies. Then, like everyone else, he turned to the President. The President looked around, and looked back at the screen, and said, "Tony, how many reporters tonight?"

"Only four," said the Press Secretary.

The President said, "Let's see her again. Do you have any more pictures, Mr. Ballin?"

The agent brought up the original picture, reduced its size, and added another photo. The woman was wearing black, and was accompanied by a girl also in black. "This is from her husband's funeral. It's the latest I could find in the public domain."

Sumpter spoke up. "Do you have anything from surveillance?"

The Acting Director handled the question. "There is no current Bureau investigation of this woman."

"But you were investigating her?" asked the President.

Agent Ballin began speaking again. "The Bureau was not surveilling Ms. Jones. There isn't any indication in our files that she ever was suspected of any criminal activity despite her family connection."

"Hmmm," mused the President. "Well, bad taste in men isn't a crime . . . I'm inclined to let her alone. Unless, Mr. Sumpter, you think she looks like too much of a threat?"

"I think we can protect you, Madame President." Sumpter would have preferred to disinvite the woman, but he knew this President had already made up her mind.

The Press Secretary said, "Not much chance one of the reporters will catch her."

"More than you might think, Mr. Levine," said the Acting Director. "Agent Ballin?"

The Agent did his magic with his machine again, and a rumpled face took over the wallscreen. "This is John Crawford. He writes a column for a certain Silicon Valley paper. That picture from the funeral is from a story he wrote about it."

There was another silence, which the President broke. "Well, Tony, not much we can do about the press here. Do you have anything else for us?"

The Acting Director said, "That's all our nasty surprises for today." Sumpter thought he saw the Agent tense slightly as Kerkorian spoke.

"Thank you," said the President. "Anyone else? . . . All right, I have some Senators to see." The President rose and left the room. Sumpter, with nothing better than his paperwork to return to, lingered, noticing that the Acting Secretary--who _so_ much wanted the permanent appointment--had abandoned her Agent to follow the President. When there was no one left but himself and the Agent, Sumpter spoke. "Agent Ballin, could I have a word before you go?"

Ballin paused, turned to face Sumpter, and said, "I think I can find time for the Chief of White House Security."

Sumpter said, "Thanks. I'm curious. How did you pick up on this stuff? I mean, when everyone else seems to have missed it?"

Ballin shrugged. "A fresh eye, I guess. And I can do a pretty good computer search."

Sumpter nodded. "And a good presentation. Better than I will ever manage on these things." A deserved compliment, but Sumpter could feel that the Agent was holding something back. "Is there anything you would have liked to add? I thought the Director might have cut you off."

"Nothing important." Ballin smiled, honestly but not wholeheartedly. "Jones--the late husband--is tied in with an angel story. The Director warned me about mentioning that."

"Angel story?" asked Sumpter.

Ballin said, "Yes. The big one, in fact. He was the man in the boat at Lake Merrit. The one with the videotape?"

"Really?"

"Really." The Agent nodded his head.

Sumpter asked, "Were you ever assigned to investigate this Jones outfit?"

The Agent stiffened. "No. No, I've been working out of Miami the last five years. I just transferred in the week before last."

Sumpter knew he had hit a nerve. But he saw he wasn't going to gain anything by pressing this sensitive point; the Bureau had something to cover up here. Sumpter decided to take a harmless tack. "So, what is the Bureau doing about angels now?"

The Agent slowly shook his head, taking a moment before replying. "Not much, I think. There was a report from Orlando a couple of months ago. All we did was get copies of some police reports." He smiled thinly. "No videos; just a few witnesses. None of them had the same story."

"Have you done much work on this stuff?" asked Sumpter.

Ballin said, "Not for the Bureau. I mean, I saw that French video like everyone else. But I didn't connect that with Jones until I started looking . . . at Crawford. He wrote about the Jones, and he wrote about Lake Merritt. In fact, he said he was there . . . " The Agent trailed off for a moment, looking somewhere past Sumpter. Then he collected himself, glanced at his watch, and said, "I'd better get back to the Bureau."

Sumpter said, "Just a sec," fished out one of his cards, and handed it to the Agent. "Could I have yours?"

"Sure." The Agent reciprocated, sounding slightly apprehensive.

"Call me if you come up with anything more on these characters. OK?" He held out his hand, and the Agent shook it. "Can't be too careful when it's the President."

"Right." Then the Agent was away.

Charles Sumpter headed back to his office and his hated paperwork.

* * *

Sumpter had spent about two more hours on his morning paperwork, and was contemplating whether a an impromptu walkthrough would be justifiable when the head of the Presidential Security Detachment came in. Sumpter put his work aside and asked, "What's up?" It couldn't be an emergency, of course; he would have heard about such instantly on his ear pickup.

Uffizi answered, "I just came on duty, and I heard the FBI was here in a big way. Anything we should know about?"

Sumpter said, "Nothing serious, I think. One of the Acting Director's boys turned up some dirt on one of the guests for tonight. Seems she was married to some West Coast drug gangster."

"I caught that. Did you get anything else?"

Sumpter was slightly annoyed at this question; it might imply Uffizi didn't trust him to tell the whole truth. Uffizi wasn't _directly_ under Sumpter, since the PSD followed the President wherever she went, in or out of the White House, but Sumpter expected the Detachment to cooperate seamlessly on White House grounds. He paused long enough to let Uffizi get the point that he was a bit out of line, and then said, "That's all Kerkorian wanted to bring before the President. I got an impression from the agent she brought in--Ballin was his name; never seen him before. Anyway, I think the Bureau doesn't want to talk much about this drug gang. He just said that the gangster was connected with an angel incident."

"Angel incident?" asked Uffizi dubiously.

Sumpter said, "Yes, that's what he said. Maybe he wanted to throw me off. But I bet the connection is real." Sumpter shook his head. "Well, as real as these things get. But the _important_ thing is, I believe that he believes she's no threat to the President."

"Which one is she?" Uffizi pulled out a small pad and a pen.

Sumpter strained his memory for a moment; the woman herself had seemed like a minor detail in all this. "She's one of the friends of this Michiru who's performing. Her name is Jones . . . _Minako_ Jones, that's it. Japanese."

Uffizi's eyebrow shot up. He snorted. "Jones?" 

Sumpter said, "Yes, Minako Jones. You know her?"

Uffizi scratched a note as he answered: "No, but I think I know why the Bureau doesn't want to say that much about the Jones gang." He re-pocketed his pad and pen.

Sumpter saw a different Uffizi now, the unofficial one. "Well, Hank, are you going to tell me or just annoy me?"

Henry Uffizi paused a moment to monitor his own earpiece, touching a finger to it. Then he said, "The word I got is that the Bureau got burned bad investigating the Jones gang."

"How?" asked Sumpter.

"I heard they had an undercover agent go over, and that they buried it. No official charges to embarass the Bureau. And since the Jones are all dead and their gang broken up, who cares now?"

"That's a remarkable piece of dirt," said Sumpter. "Will you tell me where you got it?"

"From a 'usually reliable source,'" answered Uffizi, his finger again pressing on his earpiece. "I've got to get going. The President just decided to eat lunch out."

After thinking a few moments, Charles Sumpter decided to change his own lunch plans. He fished a card out of his pocket, and made a phone call.

* * *

Charles Sumpter put down his fork, rose, and extended his hand. Agent Ballin shook it, and sat down. They were at a table in one of the currently less-fashionable restaurants in the Capitol; it had been favored by the _last_ Administration.

"Like I said, this isn't an official meeting." Sumpter said. "Should I call the waiter?"

"Am I here to talk or eat?" asked Ballin.

"We can manage both, I hope . . . Thank you for coming."

Before anything else passed between the two men, a waiter arrived. Ballin ordered a salad, something else that marked him as a more modernized man than Sumpter. When the waiter moved out of earshot, Sumpter asked, "Do you have any more about the guests yet?"

Ballin asked, "Which ones? There are over a hundred."

"How about the great Michiru's friends?" Ballin punctuated his words with a sip of coffee. "If there is one Minako Jones among them, I wonder if the others have surprises."

Ballin said, "None of them have criminal records. Most of them are rich or married rich. Most of them live in the same house."

"The same house?" asked Sumpter.

Ballin said, "Yes, the same house. It's owned by Minako Jones' stepfather. He's _very _rich and very discrete. His name is D. A. Alverson and at the moment he's a Swiss citizen."

Sumpter asked, "Do you think he was working with the Jones organization?"

Ballin stiffened slightly, but noticeably. "I can't give you an official opinion on that. But, this guy is bigger money than the Jones boys ever were. I don't think so . . . and since he isn't on the guest list, why should we talk about him?"

Sumpter readied a bite of steak, but paused before eating it. "So, who's the most interesting one coming? Besides Mrs. Jones, I mean." He chewed and nodded as Ballin opened up again.

Ballin said, "Well, there are a couple of guys who got rich on the Internet before the bubble burst, and their wives--one of them is a doctor. One of the wives, I mean. There's two other doctors besides her . . . Dr. Chiba has to be the _most_ interesting_._"

"How so?" asked Sumpter.

The salad arrived, and Sumpter listened to Agent Ballin go on as he ate about Dr. Chiba between bites. Dr. Chiba was the biological father of six of the children descending on the White House in a few hours: Three by his wife, one by Minako Jones, one by Dr. Han, and one by none other than Michiru. It was a funny story, but Ballin didn't seem properly amused. "And his wife . . . another interesting co-oincidence with her."

"What?" asked Sumpter.

Ballin said, "Mrs. Chiba was paralyzed in an unsolved shooting . . . which just happened to occur on the same night Mr. Kevin Jones, Minako Jones husband-to-be, was severely burned. Burned by something with wings, according to him."

That made Sumpter stop eating altogether. "_Another_ angel incident?"

"According to him. It's quite a yarn. Posted on a lot of angel sites on the Net. Now, the _official_ report says it was most likely something like a LAWS rocket hitting his car and blowing the gas tank." Ballin poked his salad-laden fork in the air toward Sumpter. "The Jones gang and their rivals were really getting into heavy firepower then."

They went on for a few moments, eating without talking, Sumpter expecting Ballin to go on. When that didn't happen, Sumpter asked, "Is there anyone else?"

Ballin swallowed, took a long drink, and said, "Yes. Her name is Setsuna Meiou. Or Tiggs, maybe. She's a charter pilot. She could have been very useful to the Jones organization. And she married our boy who went bad on us."

After a decent interval, Sumpter spoke his realization. "You knew the man, didn't you?"

"Yes. I never thought . . . " Ballin trailed off into a long moment of silence.

Sumpter said, "You got most of this stuff from your friend, didn't you?"

"No, not most of it. I was telling the truth about most of it being public record." Ballin smiled very wryly. "It was Marty that put me onto the track, though. This guy Hino, they told me to check him out. Well, I knew that was the name of one of the crowd that lived in the house with Michiru. His daughter, it turns out. She's a lawyer. Always arguing, he said, Marty said . . . " Ballin trailed off again, and seemed to be looking far away.

Sumpter said, "I know you had to report, but why do you think Kerkorian told the President about Minako Jones? I mean, your Bureau has a lot to be embarrassed about."

Ballin returned to the here and now. He shrugged and said, "She must have it in for the Chief of Protocol. Why, I haven't got a clue." Then he called for the check.

* * *

Shortly after Charles Sumpter returned from his lunch with Ballin the FBI agent, the President held a small function in the Rose Garden. Before it ended, a man climbed over the fence and disappeared into the grounds. The Secret Service detachment hustled the President inside as soon as they got word. It took forty long minutes to find the man, and the rest of Sumpter's afternoon to complete the aftermath, ending with an uncomfortable appearance at a press briefing. The Press Secretary finally got Sumpter off the hook by saying, "That's all for now, ladies and gentlemen."

One reporter, one of the more dogged ones, asked, "One more question. Are you cancelling the performance tonight?"

"No," replied the Press Secretary. "In fact, Ms. Michiru has already arrived." Then he left the room, shepherding Sumpter ahead of him.

As the Press Secretary was just about to go off in an opposite direction, Sumpter asked him, "Did Michiru come with her guests?"

"Oh, yes. Quite a little mob," said the Press Secretary.

"Do you know where they are now?" asked Sumpter.

The Press Secretary said, "Mostly in the Blue Room, trying to settle down all those babies. It's been a long time since you had kids, hasn't it?"

"I suppose. Thanks."

"Mr. Sumpter?"

Sumpter had been about to leave, but he stopped to reply. "Yes, Mr. Press Secretary?"

"Don't get Ms. Michiru mad at us."

"Who, me?"

* * *

Sumpter stopped at his office before going on to size up Michiru and her guests. Checking his messages, he didn't find the one he was wanting, so he called Agent Ballin and asked him if there was anything else. The answer was, "No . . . did you get the word about your fence-jumper yet?"

"No, not yet," said Sumpter. 

Ballin said, "We got an ID on him from Interpol. His name is Andre Schubert and he's from France."

Sumpter exclaimed, "France? Is he a terrorist?"

"His record says he's a burgler," said Ballin.

"A burgler?" Sumpter mused. "What's a French burgler doing trying to break into the White House in broad daylight?"

Ballin said, "That is an excellent question, isn't it? Anyway, maybe we can start him talking with this. If he isn't just crazy."

Sumpter said, "That's always possible . . . Do you think you can get anything to me before eight? That's when the dinner starts."

Ballin said, "No can do. Our database system crashed out when we were having our lunch. I don't think it'll be up until tomorrow."

"Damn . . . well, thanks for trying, Mr. Ballin."

"Sure."

* * *

Sumpter found one of the uniformed guards just outside the Blue Room. When he tried to enter, she stepped in front of him and said, "Sir, some of the ladies are nursing in there."

"Sorry," Sumpter mumbled, stepping back. _This_ was an unexpected obstacle. But he was not held up by it after all. There was a knock, and the door was opened, and out stepped exactly the woman he was looking for: Minako Jones, the gangster's widow. She was pushing a woman in a wheelchair. Sumpter found himself staring directly into her eyes. After an interminable moment, he heard the guard say, "This is my boss, Mr. Sumpter."

"Chief of White House Security, ma'am," Sumpter said automatically.

"I am Minako Jones. This is my friend, Usagi Chiba."

Sumpter spoke again without thinking, and before he looked down at the other woman. "Mrs. Chiba . . . Did your husband come?"

The woman in the wheelchair beneath him said, "No, Mamo-chan had to work at his hospital. You have been well-briefed, Mr. Sumpter."

Sumpter at last looked away from Minako Jones, down at Mrs. Chiba. And then . . .

And then he was watching Minako Jones and Mrs. Chiba moving away. Someone brushed past him, saying, "Excuse, please?" Turning back, Sumpter saw it was a woman with outrageously turquoise hair. She passed by, along with another, who closed the door. They joined Jones and Mrs. Chiba. "Who was that?" he asked the guard.

"The one with the green hair is Michiru herself, sir. The other one, I didn't catch her name. Sorry."

Sumpter noticed that the women were speaking now, lowly, rapidly. As he decided whether to approach, he realized they were speaking Japanese.

* * *

Usagi said, "He knows about Kevin and his brother and about the lake. But he does not know we are _senshi_. He would rather not believe there are _senshi_."

Minako said, "None of them have known . . . maybe--"

Michiru cut her off. "The President may be keeping it secret from everyone we have met. I will make sure Usagi meets the President."

Rei said, "Perhaps we should get Chibi-Usa to help. They may not want to let anyone get close to the President."

Michiru said, "I will insist . . . but it could be easier if Chibi-Usa helps.

Minako refused to let go of her hope that this was all a false alarm. "Maybe the visions are wrong . . . or maybe this is not yet the time."

Both Rei and Michiru shook their heads. Michiru said, "The mirror showed Titania and Nereid as they are now."

Rei added, "I saw all the babies in a blue room, and there they are in the Blue Room. The time is not wrong."

They all went to the door of the restroom with the handicapped symbol. Usagi said, "You don't _all_ have to help me, you know." But they all did.

* * *

Sumpter had kept the women in sight, trying to decide whether or not to approach. But then they closed the door to another no-man's-land, finishing any thoughts of pursuit.

Why didn't he just give up? This was beginning to look silly. But still . . .

Sumpter returned to his office and tackled some more paperwork. But when the time approached for the evening to begin with the Yellow Room gathering, he decided to head up and join Uffizi. He had just a feeling, but it wouldn't go away.

* * *

Lorraine had felt extraneous from the start of this White House thing. Setsuna had told Lorraine that she could help out with the other children as well as Persephone. At the time, and up until this hour, Lorraine had assumed this was Setsuna sparing her feelings--it was really damnable how far Martin's new love would go to spare her feelings, though she was never obvious about it. Why bring Persephone at all? Lorraine had looked after her well enough during Setsuna's many absences. The overnight stay at some overgrown Beltway tourist hotel had not made Lorraine feel very included in this affair, because Setsuna and her friends spoke mostly Japanese to one another, and their children who could speak English spoke it to one another, aside from a kindly little soul named Ishtar.

But Setsuna had been right after all about helping with the children. Especially right now, after all the parents had departed. The one in the wheelchair, Mrs. Chiba, had handed off one of her twins to Lorraine, and the little mite was inconsolable. "There, there, little . . . little what's-your-name."

"Ikuko-chan," said a familiar voice.

"Ishtar?" said Lorraine, turning. But it was not Ishtar. It was her almost-twin, her half-sister. Lorraine had barely glimpsed her up until now, but Ishtar had told her lots of stories of their adventures together.

"Call her 'Ikuko-chan' like _okasan_. That might help."

The girl had been napping in the next room, the Green Room. Lorraine wondered how she had missed her coming in. She had a noisy limp, and used a cane. "You should lie down again . . . Kimi? You're Sarah's sister? And Ishtar's?"

"Yes. It's short for 'Kimberly,' but no one calls me that except for teachers," replied the child. "It will be time for dinner soon. I can't go back to sleep before then." The girl made her way to one of the cribs and peered into it, and waved a hand over it. The occupant, a baby with a head of deep red hair (all these babies had a lot of hair, like Persephone) . . . the baby was awake, but quiet, and looked up with interest. "This is Julie-chan. She's so quiet. I think she will be very brave, like _otousan_. Ikuko-chan does not like _okasan_ to be gone at all. Only mom or Sarah can get her to go to sleep when she is like this."

"Maybe Sarah should have stayed," said Lorraine, despairing of ever settling down this child.

"She had to help _okasan_," said the little girl in a way that sounded eerily grown-up. She stopped talking after that.

The old French maid that had come with Michiru offered to take Ikuko-chan. This did not turn out well, and soon Lorraine was walking around the oval room, rocking and singing to the stranger's child, wondering where she had got her blue-black hair and deep purple eyes.

* * *

One floor above the oval Blue Room is the oval Yellow Room--a room which is _not_ on the White House tours because it is on the floor where the President and his (or in this case, her) family actually live. However, for a few of the few invited to the Executive Mansion for formal occasions, the President sometimes meets and chats with these lucky people before proceeding down the Grand Staircase to formally begin the activities and join the rest of the guests.

The current Chief of Protocol had planned a modest gathering: The President, the Ambassadors and the most honored members of their parties, and the families of Roland Descartes and Michiru. _However,_ as Uffizi explained to Sumpter, a decent distance from the Yellow Room, "Michiru said if her friends couldn't come, she would rather stay downstairs."

Sumpter said, "And that was that? Just why do we all have to jump through hoops for this woman?"

Uffizi, "She has the _cojones_ for now. The French guy, Descartes, is tied up in some gawdawful traffic mess near Dulles. The State Police keep pushing back the time for clearing it. I don't think he'll make it at all. So, Michiru is the one and only attraction. Well, and maybe Titania."

"Titania?" asked Sumpter.

Uffizi said, "Descarte's kid. Maybe another Midori, I've heard."

"Midori?" Sumpter was clueless.

Uffizi said, "Damn, Charlie, you have _got_ to listen to something besides Country and Western one of these days."

They were near the elevator. The door opened. It was Mrs. Chiba. This time a young teen was pushing the chair, one that looked quite like the woman except for the colors of her eyes and hair. Michiru was with her, again. Minako Jones was also with her. All the women smiled politely as they passed, saying nothing. The girl did not smile, politely or otherwise, but she gave Sumpter a knowing glance. Sumpter watched them as they made their way to the Yellow Room, following just far enough behind so not to be too obvious. Uffizi kept pace with Sumpter, and murmered, "Michiru goes in last, and she goes in just after your special friend there. Interesting."

* * *

Kaidou Goro (or Goro Kaidou to the Western _gaijin_) was not the official interpretor for these occasions, but the man who held the post spoke so lowly that only the Ambassador and _perhaps_ his wife could hear him, so Kaidou usually would up translating anyway for everyone else. This particular scion of the family Yamashita was an idiot, but he was of the family Yamashita and, like Kaidou-san himself, he had married into an even better family. So Yamashita stayed on and on at his honorable post in the Washington Embassy, where they thought back in Japan he could safely be an idiot, and his wife stayed mostly in Japan and hoped the children wouldn't pick up any of their father's idiocy.

Kaidou's wife asked with her usual sharp authority, "What is she saying? What is Michiru saying now?"

Fortunately Kaidou had good ears and good French, and he said, "She is telling the French that she is sorry Descartes is not here now . . . The other one says that he called and said he is still tied up in traffic near the airport. Some kind of toxic spill that is taking forever to clean up, and nothing is moving."

"Who is the other one?" Yoko snapped.

"That is Descartes' wife."

"Oh . . . I thought she always dressed like a man. Everyone says that." Kaidou's wife edged up, pushing him slightly, clearly urging them to get closer. But Kaidou ignored that, and concentrated on Michiru and the Ambassador, who was beside the President now. Now Michiru moved on, and there was some commotion . . . a wheelchair was pushed out from the guests clustered on Michiru's side of the room. Yoko gave him one of her invisible rib-pokes, a painful one, and said "What's happening now?"

"Michiru is beginning to introduce her friends. This one is Chiba Usagi."

Yoko instantly retorted, "Who on earth is that?"

_Usagi . . . Rei had had a friend named Usagi. _"Ne, who knows, a friend of Michiru."

"What--?"

The President took a step forward, almost touching the woman in the wheelchair, and stood there for a very long, very awkward moment, long enough for everyone in the room to grow quiet. Then there was a crash, and everyone turned to see what it was. A man had fallen down near the curved wall. Red-faced, he was helped up by another man in a dark suit--also in a plain dark suit.

"One of their Secret Service men," muttered Hino-san, Kaidou's old patron, who had been very quiet until now.

* * *

With the exception of Gerald Ford, one does not become President of the United States without a certain ability to pass awkward moments gracefully. This President had sufficient and more of that ability, and within a few moments she was managing the occasion smoothly again, and to someone who had not witnessed the events, it might seem they had not happened. But the President did not believe for an instant that the others had forgotten it. Still, it was part of the diplomatic game that no one would officially remember.

* * *

Uffizi took the agent who had fallen outside the Yellow Room. Sumpter waited for Mrs. Chiba and Minako Jones to leave--not long at all. Once Michiru had introduced her friends, most of them quickly slipped out. Sumpter slipped out himself, in time to hear Mrs. Chiba bark something to the girl. She answered, starting as loudly, but immediately quieting. Then the elevator arrived, and they were gone.

Sumpter had edged up to Uffizi and the agent who had fallen; they both were quiet too, until the hall was empty. Uffizi said, "Wilson, you said you could speak a little Japanese. What did they say?"

"I couldn't make out all of it. All I heard was 'This thing could have been worse.'"

"Anything else?" asked Sumpter.

"Well, I think the rest of it wasn't Japanese."

* * *

Usagi's patience finally cracked, and she demanded in the Old Tongue, "Why did you knock down that man?"

Sarah replied, "I had too . . . he was thinking about drawing his gun."

Minako said, "It could have been worse."

Usagi said, "Yes . . . I am sorry, Chibi Moon. I am so tired . . . I am sorry."

* * *

If the President was more than competent at handling life's awkward moments, Kaidou-san was a master, usually. But not now. Yoko had, fortunately, still been distracted by the clumsy Secret Service man when Michiru had introduced Rei. But any hope of getting free and clear was dashed when old Hino-san pointed out the beauty near Michiru and said, "That is Rei, my daughter, and my granddaughter Deja. A strange name, no? Deja is going to perform a piece tonight. She practices with Titania often. Michiru is telling the President about this." They were still a polite distance from the Ambassador and the President, and Rei was on the other side of Michiru; she didn't seem to take notice of Kaidou. However, Hino gestured, and got Rei's attention . . . and she came over. What was in her eyes, Kaidou could not read, but it was not good.

Rei said, "_Otousan_ . . . and Kaidou-san. I still remember you. And you are his wife?"

"Yoko," came the icy reply. "You have a lovely daughter. What is she, eleven years?"

"Twelve years . . . here they come. My husband, Kumada Yuuichirou, and Deja."

The husband and daughter mouthed polite, correct phrases that Kaidou barely registered. _The girl couldn't be . . . but she was just the right age._ He was caught up, and he was innocent, for once. He could say nothing of importance, and nothing to stop Yoko from going on and on with subtle, biting questions. It seemed like forever, though it was actually only a few minutes until it was time to go down for the dinner. Mercifully, Rei was seated far away for this, and she left the meal early.

* * *

Usagi left before dessert came, an event that would once have been taken as an omen of the end of days. Rei immediately followed, for she had not been able to speak privately and she was burning to know. She thought she would explode as she waited for Chibi-Usa to lead off the unknowing nurses. Finally she was able to ask, "Does she know? Does the President know about us?"

Usagi answered, "No. She does not believe there are senshi. Like so many, she does not want to believe . . . The last President did believe, I think; he told her a lot. But this President does not believe."

"Then why are we all here?" asked Rei.

Usagi said, "The President wants to clear up the trade problems between Japan and France. She hopes that Japan will be grateful to the United States for this. Michiru is here to make the Japanese and the French officials happy. They wanted Michiru so much for this. They gave her what she said she wanted." Usagi, looked down and saw Ikuko-chan was going to sleep, though she was, as usual, fighting it. Usagi yawned enormously. "I am so tired . . . do you think the others would mind if I took a nap for awhile?"

Rei almost said something sharp about Usagi's laziness, but stopped herself. "You must have drained yourself using your powers so much."

Usagi said, "Yes, it was silly of me . . . I should have just waited for the President instead of reading all the others . . . Sleep, Ikuko-chan, sleep for Mama? Look, Julie-chan is asleep."

Rei said, "There's no place to sleep here."

Usagi said, "I could use the couch in the next room, like Kimi-chan."

Rei shook her head. "That couch will do for Kimi-chan, but not for you. You need a bed. I'll get you one."

"No, don't--"

"_I'll get you a bed!_"

* * *

Sumpter shook his head. "The Lincoln Bedroom? She's in the Lincoln Bedroom?"

Uffizi nodded. "Come on. The performance is starting in a couple of minutes."

* * *

**Chapter 18: Intruders**

**East of Dulles Airport (Virginia)**

Roland Descartes couldn't stand another minute of the blaring Country and Western pouring out of the truck waiting just behind. He got out of the limousine again and began walking away. Andrea protested, but Roland simply waved his manager off, and quickened his pace. He was walking into the sun now, approaching the Western horizon. He paused to phone the White House switchboard again, and then walked on, more slowly, nodding to people he had passed on earlier strolls over the past four hours. The call was taking a long time to get through, though, and Roland found himself passing by new cars and new faces. He finally stopped as he came up on a rather elderly bus, with a half-completed thought as, abruptly, Haruka's voice came through. 

Roland was absorbed in conversation at first, getting the details as to what was happening, and giving his own meager news. He moved back a bit from the bus a bit to get away from some chatter, probably in Arabic, without much thought. But he did notice a woman get off the bus and walk toward him, stopping a polite distance away, smiling and nodding. She was graying, but still quite attractive, if a bit weathered. Her bare arms showed some sinew, like, perhaps, someone who plays a lot of tennis. Her hands, a detail that Roland always noticed in any person, were classically proportioned, though her nails seemed cut a little short. 

Roland finished his call. The woman spoke first. "You are Roland Descartes, aren't you?" She spoke in very good French. 

Roland replied, "You have me. And you?" 

"Renate. I have seen you perform many times. The first time, in Dresden." 

"Dresden?" Roland exclaimed. "Why, I was not much older than Adrienne. You must have been an _infant_ at the time." 

The woman laughed. "You are a good liar, Mr. Descartes. Thank you." 

"Ah, I wonder . . . " Roland continued, noticing a man getting off the bus and coming toward him. Not towering, but taller than Roland, and a way about him that suggested he could spring into action quickly. Roland had encountered enough such men before to recognize one. "Would you perhaps have a toilet on your bus? It has been a long wait." 

The man fixed his black eyes on Roland as he came up alongside the woman. He said, "The toilet is out of order." 

Roland chose some innocuous words. "Oh, that is bad. Bad for all of us, no?"

After a moment, the woman said, switching to English, "My fiance, Ahmed. This is Roland Descartes, the famous musician, Ahmed. He's here to perform at the White House. Or he was, I guess, until he got stuck with us." 

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Roland, extending a hand that was not taken. Withdrawing his hand, he said, "Don't presume. I was just talking with my wife, and she says the President and her guests have agreed to wait as long as midnight for me." 

The woman said, "Perhaps you will perform after all." 

Roland said, "I think so. The limousine I'm using has a special radio to check the emergency channels. They said they will have a lane cleared in half an hour." 

The man smiled, an unsettling display. 

Roland looked at his watch. "Oh, I'd better get back now. If the report was right, we should be moving in about ten minutes." 

The man asked, "Which is your car, Mr. Descartes?" 

Something compelled him to stay and try to comply with this request. "Well, it's fairly far . . . But you can see it, there, on that little rise. The white car just ahead of that tanker truck. 

"Yes," said the man, drawing out the word. "Well, good fortune, Mr. Descartes. Perhaps we can share in it." 

"Thank you." Roland walked away, slowly enough so as not to be insulting. _Arab men,_ he thought. _So touchy about their women._ After passing a few cars, he moved to the side of the road and began jogging. 

* * *

Watching Descartes walk away, "Renate" switched to Hungarian, a language none around would understand, including those on the bus. "His fortune is our fortune for now . . . we may still catch the ambassadors and the ministers." 

"Ahmed" nodded, and mused, "Maybe . . . If his information was correct." 

"It will be dark by then, of course," said Maria Horthy. "Do you think our new heroes here will be much good in the dark?" 

Istvan Nagy shrugged. "Here comes the little colonel." 

The man they knew as Colonel Sultan had emerged from their bus, with his two ever-present bodyguards. Maria Horthy wanted to shout at the man that he was making a foolish display with them, but knew it would be useless. She had met many Colonel Sultans by now. 

Colonel Sultan came close enough to growl in Arabic, "Who was that man? Why were you talking with him?" 

Maria Horthy smiled warmly, and said, "That man had some news for us." She explained what Descartes had said and what it implied without directly mentioning the operation until they had returned to the bus. Typically, Colonel Sultan would not accept any of her points until it had been confirmed by Istvan or another man. 

* * *

**White House, Washington, DC**

For Kaidou-san, the performance after dinner was a relief. Seated with Yoko in the very first row, he was far ahead of Rei and didn't have to look at her. What Yoko was thinking, he didn't know, but she was behaving properly enough . . . for now. 

Kaidou tried to concentrate on the performance, but there was too much on his mind. First there was anticipation of the informal period to follow, liable to be a long one as they waited for the Frenchman Descartes. This was the time for some of the unofficial diplomacy that really gets things done. The Minister would expect him to be sharp for this, but with Yoko here, as she was now . . . between her and old Hino-san, there were so many opportunities for embarassment. This was a critical night, a chance to make a mark as more than a faithful member of the party and the son-in-law of its head. 

Despite himself, Kaidou also had thoughts of Rei herself. Rei had to his mind still been a child when he had taken Yoko as opportunity and wife. Rei was a fascinating girl he had grown quite fond of, but not a candidate for genuine romance, even if she had not been the daughter of his patron. Once her grandfather had recovered, that had been the end of it. Or that should have been the end of it. He made no contact with her, and as far as he knew, Rei had never tried to reach him. Hino-san had seldom mentioned his daughter thereafter, but he had hardly mentioned her before. But still, he remembered the girl, and he had never-- 

_Gods, no!_ Rei's daughter had finished performing a piece with Descartes' older daughter, and now Rei had come up with her husband to stand with the girl while she was congratulated by the President and the other heavyweights. Hino-san joined them. But the Minister and the Ambassador were speaking, and Yoko remained silent. _For the moment._

* * *

Kate Warfield eased into the action. With her own camera person, she would have been able to push forward, but all the photographers and media crew present were under White House contract. Besides, _People _liked to pretend to a higher level than the tabloid market. She noticed Minako Jones again, but filed that thought away as she approached the President. She managed to insert a question about a possible trade agreement. The _Times _and the _Post _representatives were cultural reporters and gave her corrective looks. Old Jack Crawford might have shown a tiny amount of real respect. The President replied without really saying much, and asked to be excused for a few minutes. 

Once the President moved off, the crowd began breaking up. Michiru was the next most important in Kate Warfield's current estimation, so she focused on her. "You seem to have a lot of your friends here, Michiru. I remember some of your faces from our last interview, especially Minako Jones'." 

Michiru answered, "Yes. The President was very kind to allow so many of my friends to come." 

Kate couldn't resist sinking at least one hook in, so she added, raising her voice without realizing, "Yes . . . Of course, I remember Ms. Jones from before, when I interviewed Lisette Pinatabo." 

That drew a reaction from Michiru, though she covered it well. From Jones too, which gave Warfield much more satisfaction. But she continued on, now that she had fixed her targets, mixing the important questions in with polite ones. 

* * *

Hearing the name "Pinatabo," the President paused for a moment. She remembered the name from what she had thought of as the "angel briefing," before taking over from the previous administration. It is possible that the evening might have gone on quite differently from that point if Charles Sumpter had been at her side, or perhaps even Henry Uffizi. But the ministers from Japan and France were beside her as she left the East Room, and the incident was soon pushed far back in her mind. 

* * *

Kaidou had decided to stick close to the Minister, his assigned duty and the better tactic for now. It would be better to be away from Yoko if she misbehaved. Thus, he missed the exchange between Michiru and the American reporter. 

* * *

Yoko did not miss the exchange, and she noticed that Hino Rei reacted quite strongly. "Minako Jones," whoever she was, was important to Hino Rei, as was the business with the Pinatabo person. As for the reporter . . . such a person could be quite useful to know. When the reporter was finished with Michiru and her friends, Yoko introduced herself to the reporter and began a conversation. There would be time to deal with Hino Rei later . . . 

* * *

**Tysons Corner, Virginia  
13 Miles from the White House**

Istvan Nagy went through the final plan, mostly for the benefit of the people Colonel Sultan had brought in. Maria was really better at presentations like this, but with Sultan and his crew of "reliable" men, a woman was not a serious choice. He recapitulated, in Arabic now, without Sultan's questionable translation. "Remember, the first team must penetrate and secure this area before we proceed." 

"You will follow my orders," added Colonel Sultan, and he began a harangue about the sins of America. Nagy doubted very much that the Colonel could win an engagement with a platoon of Girl Guides, but at least his men would obey him. That made it slightly more likely that this scheme would come off. 

Hans, one of the demo men for tonight, had pulled down the floor plan and was burning it, a torn piece at a time so he did not make a big fire. "Where's Maria?" he asked. 

"With the big computer man, I think." 

The computer man called himself John. How he had contacted Sultan's people, Nagy hadn't a clue. But he was a gem, if he wasn't a plant. As he entered John's lair, he saw the proof on four monitor screens: direct feed from the White House surveillance cameras. 

* * *

**White House, Washington, DC**

The wait for the French performer was a long one, but productive for Kaidou-san. Yamashita the idiot remained with the Ambassador, while the Minister spent most of his time with his French counterpart, and much of that with the American President as well. With Kaidou's help, the Minister made a very friendly impression without making any commitments. 

Of course, there was Yoko to consider, and Kaidou now had the time to consider when the news came that Descartes had arrived. 

* * *

Roland Descartes' had expected that his arrival at the White House would have been the end of his troubles for the evening. He barely had time to kiss Titania and Adrienne before a group of women approached. He recognized only one of them, mostly by her voice, for she had a bandaged, swollen nose. She was the pig of a reporter he had encountered during his stay with Haruka's and Michiru's friends. "Ah, Ms. Warfield! I remember you. You have been in an accident?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"I had a growth removed," she responded, clearly set off-balance. 

"Not malignant, I hope?" 

"No," replied Warfield. 

"Thank goodness," Roland said, and then turned on his charm. "I'm afraid I don't know the rest of you lovely ladies." They introduced themselves; they were important wives. Then he regaled them with the story of the evening's misadventures, not giving the pig reporter a chance ask a question. He spun the tale out until the American President arrived, when he wrapped it up. "And then, when we finally were through the obstruction, our car was pulled over for speeding. The driver had too many tickets, so the police wouldn't let him drive. Neither Andrea or I have a permit good for the United States, so we had to wait for a taxi." 

The American President asked, "Didn't you tell them you were coming here?" 

Roland said, "Yes, but they said that made no difference. The police did get the taxi for us." 

"Good for them," said the President. "The law is the same for the White House as elsewhere." 

Roland smiled. "Of course, Madame President. The law is the same for me, as well." 

The President excused Roland to prepare for his performance, and led most of the crowd into the East Room. While he was changing , he had time for a quiet word with Haruka. She did not have much to say, except about how the arrangements for the children were working. There was something on her mind, but he doubted the wisdom of getting it out of her. The relevant point was that Michiru would be busy with Amphitrite Marie for awhile longer, so he should start with a solo piece. 

* * *

Yoko had not, after all, found time to properly attend to Hino Rei; she had always seemed to have friends around her. When the Frenchman began his performance, she thought that all her opportunities were used up. But when Michiru entered the East Room, she went to Hino Rei, and Hino Rei slipped out. All the rest of Michiru's crowd seemed to be in the East Room. Yoko decided to force the issue. When the next number finished, she excused herself and went off quickly, before Goro could react. 

Yoko guessed Hino Rei had gone to the Blue Room, the nursery for tonight, and she was correct. Hino Rei was nursing her infant near the far end of the room. There were two other adults: an old woman dozing in a chair, and a younger one tending to one of the babies in one of the cribs. Yoko smiled politely at the younger one in passing; she did not remember meeting her. She was a _gaijin_, so Yoko did not give her much thought after passing her. Soon Yoko stood before Hino Rei, and waited to be acknowledged. 

Hino Rei said, after a wait that seemed too long to be polite, "This is my younger daughter, Tomiko." 

Yoko did not bother with a pointless compliment about the infant. She said, "I had you investigated once. The detectives told me some interesting things about you. They did not tell me about the child, but I guess your father fixed the records somehow." 

After another telling pause Hino Rei asked, "What interesting things did your detectives tell you?" 

Yoko said, "People at your school and around Hikawa Temple thought you were strange. They said strange things always seemed to be happening while you were there. Why, one person even thought you might be a witch." 

Hino Rei said, "A witch? Do you think I have put some sort of spell on your husband?" 

Yoko said, "Mother is a great believer in magic, but I never was. But you have put your spell on my husband." 

* * *

Lorraine could not understand what Setsuna's friend and the other Japanese lady were saying, but hearing their talk made her feel creepy. She tried to keep her mind off that conversation. She finished changing little Atlas. _What a name! Why did these ladies give their children such wierd names? And why so many girls?_ Among all of the many children of Setsuna and her friends, only four boys, and one of them adopted. 

There was only one whimper requiring attention. It was a familiar one: Ikuko-chan's. Lorraine took her out of her crib, and left the Blue Room for the hall, before the whimper might become a wail and wake up other babies. "Come on, Ikuko-chan, it's all right. Sarah just fed you, so you can't be hungry now. Come on . . . Listen to the pretty music." In the hall, Lorraine could hear the music from the East Room, even through the closed doors. 

* * *

Charles Sumpter shifted his weight, momentarily relieving his aching feet, and tried to look as if he were enjoying the performance. Looking at the little girl sleeping in Mrs. Descartes' arms, he found himself yawning. It had been a long day. The fence-jumping French burgler hadn't talked after all; in fact, he had lawyered up, and not with some novice public defender. Maybe it meant nothing, but with all the surprises today, it kept Sumpter on edge. Possibly he would have gone home by now if the fence jumper had talked. 

Looking back in the audience, Sumpter saw quite a few more children sleeping or on the brink of sleep, and had to stifle another yawn. Some adults were lagging as well. The tall woman next to Minako Jones nudged her awake. 

* * *

The two guards on duty at the Northwest gate that night were named Gerald Hall and Charles Morton. Hall had worked at the White House for seven years. Morton had less than two years experience at the Executive Mansion. They had both overqualified on their last trips to the shooting range, but neither had ever fired a shot at a live target. Hall had been on duty since six. Morton had just come on at ten; staggered shifts were the current policy. 

A truck turned into the driveway. Its lights kept Hall and Morton from seeing any detail on the truck. Morton put his hand on his weapon. But the truck did not race forward; it braked to a halt for a moment, and then edged forward. Morton relaxed just a bit. When the truck drew up to the gatehouse and halted, it was Hall who called out, "What is your business at the Executive Mansion?" That phrase was another part of current policy. It was less inflammatory than "What the hell are you doing here?" In the clipped tones Hall used, though, much the same meaning was conveyed. 

"Executive Mansion?" said the driver, a woman. 

Hall said, "This is the White House, ma'am. Do you have authorized business here?" 

"This is the White House?" said the woman. She had a foreign accent of some kind, just enough to be noticeable.

Hall said, "Yes, ma'am. If you don't have authorized business, you have to leave." 

The woman said, "We have business. We came to make a delivery. We are sorry to be so late. Johnny, do you have the invoice? Give me the invoice." 

Hall saw a man on the other side of the cab fumbling through papers on a clipboard. He cursed as the papers slipped out of the clip and dropped away. 

"Johnny, hurry up! Ahhhh, let me do it," exclaimed the woman, bending down. 

Morton said _sotto voce, _"It's a damn liquor delivery." 

Hall waved him off, and continued in his official voice, "Ma'am, this is not a delivery entrance." 

The woman sat up again, and said, "Oh? I'm sorry, we have never made a delivery here before. Are you sure we can't go on through from here?" 

"No," said Hall, pointing north and turning that way without thinking as he explained, "Kitchen deliveries are always made on the other side. You'll have to back out, and then go right when you reach Fifteenth Street--" 

At that point, two events happened very close together. First, the gate began to open, and Hall, hearing the noise, turned back. Second, the woman produced a silenced pistol and shot the guards, first Hall, then Morton. It was not the first time she had fired on live targets. The kevlar vests Hall and Morton wore with their uniforms did them no good, because she shot them both in the head. 

Surveillance cameras picked up the event, but no one noticed in the monitor room. They didn't notice that the time stamps were were wrong on several screens, either . . . 

* * *

Istvan Nagy picked up the mike and said, "Team One, go." Two men with sniper rifles came out the back, and the door closed behind them. Their mission was to cover the grounds while the rest proceeded in. Nagy had thought about using only one man, but had decided on two. Three or even four would have been better, but Nagy did not have unlimited manpower. He saw one of them give a "ready" signal in the mirror, and said to Maria Horthy, "Go ahead." 

Just as Maria Horthy put the truck back in gear, the lights went out. "I thought our man John was going to give us one minute," she remarked flatly. 

Istvan Nagy said, "Perhaps one of the guards sent an alarm?" 

"I think not," said Maria, sounding a little offended. 

Nagy was tempted to tell her to speed up, but that would attract attention. If they were stopped unexpectedly, it was better to play the part of lowly workers out of their element. Taking up his night vision goggles, he scanned the roof and the grounds for patrols. 

"There's someone coming out," said Maria. The truck's lights illuminated the portico. Two people had come out the doors; guards. He was familiar with the current uniform, of course. _Why wasn't Team One taking them down?_ They started coming down the steps . . . Time for another command decision. _Stop now and deploy the force?_ No, the guards had not drawn their weapons; they didn't even have their hands on them. 

They were drawing closer, and the guards were beginning to slip out of the headlights as the truck followed the curving driveway to the portico. Nagy quickly put down the goggles and grabbed his portable spotlight. He shined it on a guard. The man called out something. As they pulled alongside, Nagy called out, "Excuse me, sir. We are very late." 

The second guard said, "What are you doing here?" This one was a woman. 

Nagy stepped down out of the truck when he noticed that Maria was doing the same. He left his pistol; it was too bulky with the silencer to slip into his pants. Instead, he armed himself with clipboard and spotlight, and made a lot of commotion, the better to keep their attention off Maria. But perhaps he made too much commotion; two more guards came out. He made a show of looking through the papers, and when all four of the guards came down, he dropped them "accidentally." Two of them helpfully bent down to help him retrieve them. That is when Maria shot them, perhaps with some help from Team One. It was a virtuoso performance, whoever did it; they were all down before they could use their weapons, without an unsilenced shot. Nagy rapped out the signal on the side of the truck, and the mission force came pouring out. Nagy went with them, unarmed and without his night vision equipment. There was no time for that: the next minute or so would probably decide if the mission would succeed or fail, and every second counted. 

* * *

The East Room was filled with exclamations when the lights went out, but Roland Descartes, totally focused on his performance as always, went on playing. It wasn't the first time he had experienced a power failure during a performance. In fact, in Dresden, so long ago, in what was then East Germany, he had played out half his concert by the light of kerosene lamps. 

He uttered only one word, "Michiru," reminding her to start playing again. He kept on playing, ignoring the increasing commotion, until . . . 

* * *

When the lights went out, Lorraine was in the Green Room, on her way to find Sarah, because little Ikuko was just not going to be satisfied. By emerging from the Green Room, Lorraine hoped she could more discretely attract Sarah's attention than from the door to the hall, which was much closer to the performers, the President, and the other big shots. Lorraine bumped into some furniture. Someone called out, and Lorraine responded, "Ishtar?" 

"No, I'm Kimi. Oh, I hear them playing. Sarah should have woke me up. She promised . . . what time is it? When did they turn out the lights?" 

Lorraine said, "Just now, dear. It must be some kind of mistake, I think. Someone didn't get the word, I suppose." Lorraine heard her move, and said, "Don't try to get up." 

Kimi said, "That's all right. I can see pretty well. You have Ikuko-chan again." 

Lorraine said, "Yes, I was going to get Sarah. You were right; it's either Sarah or your mother for this one." 

"I'll go get Sarah," said Kimi.

Lorraine heard Kimi getting up and moving. Lorraine's eyes were beginning to adjust; she could see the door opening--barely, because the East Room beyond was dark, too, though with its many windows on three sides it was somewhat less dark than the comparatively small Green Room. Lorraine started for the doorway. 

* * *

When the lights went out, Yoko was still talking with Hino Rei at the south end of the Blue Room, which forms the interior of the South Portico on the main floor. The windows picked up enough ambient light from the outside so that in a moment she could make out the form of her adversary, still quietly nursing. She made a polite joke: "Someone should have reminded the American President to pay the electric bill." 

"Perhaps," replied Hino Rei flatly. 

Yoko could wait no longer. "I will come to my most important question. Is there a possibility that my husband is the father of your first child?" 

Hino Rei said, "No, there is no such possibility. My Yuuichirou is Deja's father." 

Yoko said, "So you may say _now_. I could see your husband is very fond of the child. But what claim may she make in the future?" 

Rei found it difficult to hold her anger at Kaidou's wife, but she swallowed it. She could not, of course, tell the woman the real truth, of the years she had spent in the world of the Grey Lady, making Deja older here than she should be. But what to tell her? The wife had to be appeased, if not for Kaidou's sake, then for her family. This one would keep asking questions. Rei finally said, "If I wanted to take Kaidou-san away from you, and if he was her father, don't you think I would have told him about Deja long ago?" 

Yoko said, "That does not matter now. What matters is that I am sure and my husband is sure that he is not her father. Will you agree to a genetic test?" 

Rei said, "No. I will not subject Deja to that." 

There was a great commotion, with heavy shoes coming down on the floor. The far door opened, and people began coming in. Yoko was standing before Rei, so Rei was not able to really see what was going on. Male voices cried out, "Don't move!" and "Quiet!" when Yoko began to protest. Something was wrong, and Rei knew it, but she didn't know what, and she had Tomiko in her arms, and she couldn't see the noisy men very well, and she wasn't sure they were enemies. For these reasons, Rei did not transform. Then, when two of them came close, it was too late. She could see their guns, and that they were wearing bulky goggles--those she had seen before, in the war between the Jones gang and their enemies. It meant they could see in the dark better than her. If she transformed, they would probably fire . . . and she had Tomiko in her arms . . . 

* * *

The East Room is and always has been the largest room in the White House. It spans the width of the mansion, north to south, with tall windows set in three of its four walls. All its doors are set in the western wall. 

When the lights went out, the President was surprised, but hardly panicked, especially as the pianist kept playing. When Uffizi made his way to her side and suggested she leave as a precaution, she declined. 

Charles Sumpter spent the first moments after the lights went out listening to his ear pickup. It was a cacophany; everyone seemed to be calling at once. He was tempted to override the watch commander when radio discipline was not quickly restored, but he did not use his transmitter . . . though he did take it out. 

Team One was accomplishing its mission. By the time their comrades entered the White House, they had used their silenced rifles to eliminate the guards at the Northwest gate, one guard patrolling the perimeter fence, and perhaps two of the hapless guards who had been duped into helping the wayward delivery man. 

Everyone awake in the East Room noticed the increasing noise as Nagy and his mission force entered the White House and spread out to their assigned areas. They heard shouting from the Blue Room, but not the words. At that point, Uffizi drew his gun, and Charles Sumpter transmitted, "Possible intruders-- 

At that moment, Nagy began leading his men into the East Room. He called out, "Attention! Attention! Listen carefully, all of you! Do not move! Do not talk! Listen to me and no one will be harmed! We have automatic weapons and explosives, and we can see you quite clearly! You cannot fight us!" He flashed his spotlight rapidly around to demonstrate that his men were indeed armed and ready; then he turned it on the occupants. "Now, listen carefully. I want everyone who has a gun to slowly raise his hands. Don't put down your weapon if you are holding it. Just raise your hands slowly, and wait for one of us to collect your weapon. Please, raise your hands if you have a weapon. If we discover a weapon on anyone later, I am afraid someone will have to be shot. Now, people with weapons, raise your hands high, keep them high, and just wait." 

Charles Sumpter said nothing, and raised his hands--but he kept the send button pressed. Everyone monitoring the security frequency caught at least some of Nagy's speech. 

* * *

Sarah Uer had grown up a lot in the last months even if she was only two millimeters taller. Six months before, she would have likely transformed and started blasting the instant she was aware of the enemy. But almost losing Kimi had been sobering. Now, she had Kimi with her. Kimi had not transformed into a senshi since the night Mika had been kidnapped; perhaps she was not strong enough. Perhaps she never would be strong enough . . . 

When the shouts came from the Blue Room, Sarah had just taken little Ikuko from Setsuna's nursemaid. Kimi called out, "There are men in the room with the babies!" 

"Cover your eye!" said Sarah. Some flashlight beams were flitting about the room. 

Then Nagy came in, and Sarah heard him. As he spoke, more men came through the nearby doors from the Green Room. There was nothing Sarah could do . . . yet. So could be said of the other senshi. 

* * *

To Nagy's relief, Maria Horthy showed up with his pistol and bullhorn. The latter was more appreciated, for his voice was somewhat strained after so many days of "earnest discussion" with Colonel Sultan. Maria also had news. "Sultan is only a few blocks away. Also, Klaus heard your little speech on their command channel. Someone in here is clever." 

"Probably that one," said Nagy, pointing the beam at Sumpter, who hadn't been processed yet. Then he returned the beam to the clot of obvious Secret Service agents, and called out in English, "Madame President, don't be shy. Please, join us." 

The President had never encountered an armed threat personally. She was not a coward, but she was not a natural soldier, either, so the shock of the event had rendered her incapable. But now she began to recover. She rose, and said, "You have me. Why not let the others go?" 

Nagy said, "That idea appeals to me. But such things will remain for future negotiation. Now, let us get acquainted with some of your guests. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Descartes earlier, but everyone else is a stranger." 

* * *

Chiba Usagi was still sleeping, dreaming the ballroom dream again. This time the floor was parquet, just like the East Room. 

Charles Sumpter's clever use of his radio had saved lives--the men Nagy had posted to guard the stairways had grenades and instructions to drop them on anyone trying to come up. It was close--a deaf janitor was almost at the back stairs when a more informed man stopped him. On the other hand, because there were no explosions or loud gunfire, Usagi slept on while Colonel Sultan and his men arrived. Had she been awake, she well might have seen and heard the bus with its armed men, and done something rather drastic to them. But Usagi slept on while the men piled out of the bus. Some of them went inside right away, while others helped unload the van. Soon enough, all of them were inside, while Usagi continued her sleep. 

Meanwhile, the DC police were just beginning to respond. Another one of hacker John's contributions to the evening at the White House was a clever finesse to the phone system: he had redirected all outgoing calls to a phone booth in Langley, Virginia. It took several minutes for someone to get a cellphone, get through to 911, and convince the operator that it _really was_ the White House. 

* * *

**Chapter 19: Baiburs**

ONE OF SULTAN'S MEN sought out Nagy while his men were still disarming and separating the guards and Secret Service men. "Report to Commander Sargon. I will take over here." 

"Sargon" was Sultan's _nom-de-guerre_ for this operation. Nagy told Sultan's man, "I will report, but Major Horthy is my second-in-command. My men don't know you, and most of them don't speak Arabic." 

"I speak English. Report to the commander immediately. Oh, could I have your bullhorn?" 

Nagy shrugged, handed it over, and left the East Room, pushing his way through a clot of Sultan's men. They were all using flashlights, something that did not inspire Nagy's confidence. 

Nagy found Sultan and began his report. "We have captured their president; I have seen her and spoken with her. Their security forces are clearing the areas near us, according to what we hear on their command frequencies. We also have the officer with their nuclear codes, and the French and Japanese ambassadors and ministers. The police have just been ordered to set up roadblocks . . . " 

* * *

The newcomer mounted the performing platform, turned his flashlight on his face, and, using the bullhorn, announced, "Attention, prisoners. I am Major Baiburs. I am in charge of all prisoners. You will find me very reasonable as long as you remember my three rules. They are very simple rules, easy for you to remember. First rule: Prisoners do not speak without permission. Second Rule: Prisoners do what my men and I order you to do. Third Rule: Prisoners do nothing else. You will follow these three rules as long as you are my prisoners." 

Baiburs then switched to Arabic and ordered, "One man to each door. The rest of you, bind all of them, hands behind." Then he dismounted the platform, approached Major Horthy and said, "Tell your men they can go now. I'm sure the leftenent colonel will have need of them." 

Major Horthy asked, "Don't any of your men have night vision gear?" 

"No," replied Baiburs. "My men don't need it for their work." 

Horthy said, "Then I'm leaving one man here to watch the East. The Americans might try something from there, over the East Wing roof." 

Baiburs said, "That would be very foolish. But the Americans do foolish things. Post your man for now, but get the rest out of here. The prisoners are to be managed by me and my detachment." 

Major Horthy noted that Baiburs men were already managing the prisoners with shouts and blows. Baiburs had spoken truthfully; they seemed to work efficiently enough in the dark. Their flashlights were robust; several used them as clubs without breaking them. Baiburs men were more than mere thugs, though; none of the prisoners were collapsing permanently. They knew how to apply violence with care; how to cause pain without disabling. _Political policemen,_ Horthy thought. She had had experience with many kinds of them. 

Horthy found Nagy with Sultan in the central hall. Men were rushing everywhere, some bringing in the last of the stuff from the vehicles, others herding prisoners toward the East Room, and many bounding up the stairs. 

* * *

Usagi was finally awakened by a gun barrel shoved into her ribs. A man was shouting, "Move! Out!" 

Usagi did not, of course, understand the complete situation, but she did know something was very wrong. 

"Move! Out!" Again, the thrusting gun. 

"I can't!," cried Usagi. "I'm paralyzed!" 

"Move! Out!" 

Usagi reached out into the man's mind. It was full of words she did not understand. But she could understand impulses, and found that this man was about to shoot her. She acted accordingly, transforming and turning him and his gun into minute wisps of dust. The sudden transformation, without preparation, was too much for her, and Sailor Moon passed out, turning back into Usagi. 

A few minutes later, another man investigated the Lincoln bedroom. He had more English, more compassion, and more common sense. He left her where she was, a problem to be sorted out later. 

No one noticed that a man was missing, yet. 

* * *

Sultan's own military man was known as Major Fahd. Nagy rated him as a reasonably competent officer, though he knew nothing of his background. Fahd was making a report. "We have searched all rooms in the two upper floors and checked the roof. Only three people were found, two servants and a crippled woman." 

"Crippled?" asked Sultan. 

"Wheelchair bound," Fahd explained. "I suggest waiting until the elevator works before moving her down here." 

Nagy said, "When and if the power is restored, I suppose. Commander Sargon, can you contact John? I haven't been able to reach him." 

"His part of this operation has concluded," said Sultan/Sargon. "Continue, Fahd." 

"All the rooms below us on the ground floor and in the first basement have been searched. The second basement has some rooms with security doors. Should we use explosives to open them?" 

"No," said Sultan. "Colonel Nur will request the codes from the Americans." 

Nagy, or "Nur" for this operation, said, "I'll do that as soon as we finish here. My people report there is still much activity in the West Wing, though the area near us seems to be clear. They are scurrying to clear out files, some of them. The East Wing is quiet. Shall I send out patrols on schedule, or give them more time?" 

Sultan said, "Warn the Americans again. Tell them to open all the doors before they evacuate. I should have thought of that . . . Tell them again that anyone found in the building will be taken prisoner, and anyone resisting will be shot, and that we will begin executing prisoners in retaliation for any hostile action. Then send out the patrols on schedule, but tell them to start slowly. That should give the Americans enough time to finish clearing the building." 

* * *

Power was restored to the White House shortly after two. This was not a joyous occasion for the prisoners in the East Room, because now their guards could see more clearly; they could move faster, and find who was talking more easily, and hit more accurately. 

It also meant that Kimi could not use her magic eye any more, because the guards would surely see it. Like the others, her hands were tied behind her back; she couldn't hide her third eye. She had risked using it in the dark for a second or two at a time, trying to find out what was happening with her mother and the babies, especially after they took away Ikuko-chan and Rei's baby. Rei had been first; she had fought, hurting two of the guards. But Baiburs, the man in charge, had ordered her to stop or they would shoot her, her baby, and all the other prisoners. Rei gave up, and they had taken her to the performing platform, lit her up with their flashlights, and beaten her in front of everyone. Sarah had handed off Ikuko-chan to Kimi when they bound her, but the guards had bound Kimi too, simply leaving Ikuko-chan on the floor for a long time until Baiburs had ordered one of them to take her away. 

Soon after the lights came on, Baiburs had all the men taken away. The President was gone; Kimi had not noticed when she was taken away. 

* * *

With power, the elevators were working again. No one thought to take Usagi down for awhile. She had been put in her wheelchair and left in the hallways, moved about occasionally. Quite a number of the intruders passed by her, and some had paused long enough and close enough for her to do a little careful work on their guns. But it was obvious there were many intruders. Listening to their thoughts was fruitless; they thought in languages Usagi did not understand. Quite a lot could speak English, and a few spoke with her, briefly. She didn't yet know the distinctions, but these men were Fahd's, or, in one case, Nagy's. 

At half past two, Sultan took a final look-around before retiring to the Presidential bedroom. He noticed Usagi. After a moment of thought, he went to her. "It looks like we forgot someone. Who are you." 

"My name is Usagi Chiba." 

"Are you part of the staff here?" asked Sultan. 

"No, I am just a guest," replied Usagi, trying to read Sultan. 

"Oh. Your bad luck to be here tonight. Is one of the children yours?" 

"Four of the children are mine," said Usagi. The words in his mind were indecipherable, but she caught an image of the Blue Room, with the babies. It was black and white. "Two of them are babies. They are twins. _I want to see them._" 

"Of course." Sultan felt unsettled for a moment, but he resumed his act. "What about your husband? Is he part of the staff here?" 

Usagi realized her command power would not work on this man, at least not now. She spoke hesitantly, as if frightened, while she tried to ruin the guns Sultan's bodyguards were carrying. "No . . . My husband is a doctor. He had to work at his hospital . . . We live in California." 

"Ah, California! I would like so much to visit your state again. But I think you will be seeing it much sooner than I." Sultan turned and walked away. When he was out of earshot, he told one of his bodyguards, "Have one of Baiburs' men come up to collect that woman." 

Usagi was collected a few minutes later. The guard bound her hands immediately, explained the rules in the elevator and slapped her when they passed the Blue Room. Usagi had heard all the babies crying and asked to see them. She tried a command on the guard, but he only got angrier and slapped her harder. 

In the East Room, she was taken to a man who asked her name and checked it off a list. He wrote her name on a file card with a marker and stapled the card to her gown. Then another guard pushed her wheelchair to the other prisoners. He was a lazy man; he simply parked her in a gap in the first row and left her there, facing the others. She was far from Sarah and Kimi, whom she had only glimpsed. She was next to Rei, who had a torn gown and a bruised arm. The guards had been careful not to touch her head when they beat her. Haruka and Michiru were fairly close, and their children except for the babies, but the rest around her were people she had never seen before tonight 

A few minutes after Usagi arrived, and had had time to read Rei's thoughts, she recognized Naru's voice crying out in pain, and then Pleione and Maia shouting. Usagi called out in Japanese, "Pero-chan, Mai-chan, don't! You can't fight them now!" Usagi could see their sigils as they stood up: they were about to transform. 

Someone from behind her slapped her and asked, "What did you say?" 

"I told Pleione and Maia to stop!" 

"That was excellent advice to give them. But prisoners do not talk without permission." 

The crisis passed. Usagi noted down the guard who had started the trouble, and paid more attention to him than the others. Like all the other intruders, she did not understand his mother tongue, so she could not get as much from reading his thoughts as she would have liked. She was also tired, drained; only the desperation of the situation was keeping her awake. But she formed her decision over the next hour or so. Many of the guards enjoyed inflicting pain, but the guard who had hurt Naru seemed to enjoy it most, and he was the most energetic. He seemed to feel poorly; Usagi expected Ishtar was literally sending him ill feelings. Conserving her energy and waiting for the right moment, Usagi decided to give this guard something worse than ill feelings. 

At first, Usagi wasn't sure she had affected the man. He slapped her for looking at him when he got close. He wore leather gloves, so that he didn't hurt his hands when he struck people. She hadn't had very long at all to make her attack. But after a few minutes, the guard sat down in one of the chairs they had taken for themselves. Some time later, the guard seemed to be asleep. The man who had given Usagi her name tag came over to him and slapped him. Instead of waking up, he fell off the chair. 

* * *

Nagy had been snatching some sleep when he was summoned to see Sultan. He was taken to the Yellow Room, and then to a room next to it. Inside he found Sultan, Baiburs, and Fahd. Nagy noticed that Sultan was wearing pajamas, and a robe with the seal of the American president on the breast. "Commander Sargon, what is the situation?" 

"Close the door, Colonel." 

Nagy complied, and came up to the others. They were by the window. Sultan turned away, parted the curtains, and peered out. Without turning back, he said, "We have two problems. Fill in the leftenent colonel, Major Baiburs." 

Baiburs said, "One of my men is sick. I called for the medic, but he is not to be found." 

Nagy remarked, "Really? One of my men was asking for for him before the power came up." 

Baiburs said, "The man seems to have been missing for rather longer than that. Major Fahd has assured us that the man was very loyal and held a personal grudge against the Americans. He was so eager, he borrowed a rifle and joined the search team Fahd sent up here. That is the last time anyone seems to remember him." 

Sultan said, "From now on, any people going outside the mansion area will work in threes: One man from each of your groups. Anyone suspected of trying to desert will be questioned by Major Baiburs. Anyone in the act will be shot immediately." Sultan closed the curtains and turned to face Nagy. "Commander Nur, I am inclined to ask the Americans to return our missing man. Is that what you would do in my place?" 

Nagy said, "No. The Americans have already had him for hours. If he deserted, he will have told them everything important that he knows. The damage is done. Also, the Americans are strangely tenderhearted to defectors; they won't give him up so we can shoot him. Not in front of all the television cameras, anyway." 

Sultan nodded. "I will take your advice for now. We can always ask for him later. Baiburs, the other problem?" 

Baiburs said, "Major Fahd managed to retain the medical supplies we brought, and his men found more. We have two doctors and one registered nurse among the prisoners. We will use them. I remind you that one of my men will be with the prisoner medics at all times. Your men are to speak only Arabic or English, and not to talk about anything other than their medical problems." 

* * *

Dr. Mizuno said, "Your man's condition is deteriorating. There is nothing else we can do for him here with what we have. If you want to save him, send him to a hospital now." 

Baiburs asked, "What is wrong with him?" 

Dr. Han said, "Give us a hospital and we might find out for sure. I've never seen anything quite like it." 

Dr. Mizuno said, "I have seen something like it. My mother spends most of her time in Africa. I saw something like this in one of her clinics." 

"What was it?" asked Baiburs. 

"Ebola. Your man's symptoms resemble an ebola infection more than anything else. Massive bleeding from the bowels, blood in the urine, the rapid onset of symptoms." 

Baiburs eyed the prisoner-physician for a long moment. "My man had no fever." 

"He doesn't have one now. The symptoms are not a perfect match, but this could be a new strain, or he could have a weakened immune system. I am a surgeon; not a specialist in infectious diseases. Ebola is my best guess." 

"It could also be a way to frighten my men," said Baiburs. "Do not speak of this to anyone except me." 

"Very well," said Dr. Mizuno. 

"Now, tell me what else it could be," asked Baiburs. 

Dr. Han said, "I can think of something that fits pretty good, but I've never seen a case." 

"And what is that?" asked Baiburs. 

"Radiation sickness," said Dr. Han. "That would explain the lack of a fever; there is no infection. But how would your guy get that?" 

Baiburs paused for a moment, then said, "An interesting speculation. You will share this with no one but myself." 

* * *

Next: The enemy makes a "humanitarian" gesture, and the DC Mayor has a day in the sun exploiting the crisis. But the crisis may be worse than Winnie Clayborne knows . . .

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	6. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Six**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1])

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 20: Public Relations**

EXCEPT FOR a brief interruption around six, Sultan stayed in bed until after ten. He showered and shaved, and put on fresh clothes. He had not neglected to provide himself with these, something no other invader had. He had a breakfast of two boiled eggs, toast, coffee, and orange juice, about what was available to the rest of his men, but served on White House china. He met with Baiburs first, and then with Fahd and "Nur." 

Major Fahd ended by reporting the supply situation. "We have a supply of food for at least two days, but most of it will need preparation. I only have two men with any cooking skills. Perhaps Major Baiburs could give us some of the women to help." 

"No," said Sultan. "I have other plans for the women. Colonel Nur, what is the military situation now?" 

Nagy could have reported truthfully that it was hopeless; any two companies of infantry in the American armed forces could wipe them out in minutes. Only the hostages, and perhaps an American reluctance to damage the monument, really kept them safe, for now. But Nagy reported, "The only significant thing to report since our last meeting is that American National Guard units have been called up in the surrounding area." 

"National Guard?" said Fahd, sounding apprehensive. 

"American militia," explained Nagy. "They are generally used for riot control and disaster relief. It is unlikely they will pose a direct threat to us. The most intelligent use of them would be to supplement their police, providing enough manpower to widen the exclusion zone around us, especially to push the cameras further away. On the other hand, it is quite likely that they have been called up simply to assure the American public that action is being taken." 

Sultan lit a cigarette, took a long puff, and then offered one to Nagy, and then to Fahd, out of his case. Nagy noticed the cigarettes were made with a fine paper, and had a gold letter, a Greek or Cyrillic Phi. After taking a drag, Nagy said, "A man's smoke." Fahd coughed about the same time. 

Sultan said, "I found this wonderful tobacconist in New York years ago. I ordered these from him, year after year. But he was old; he died. These are the last I have left." Sultan puffed for a moment, and then he hefted a thick, sealed envelope laying on the table. "These are the demands I am giving the Americans. I will give them to one of the female prisoners who will be released shortly." 

Nagy remarked, "That is quite a package. The Americans might need quite some time to fill all your demands." 

Sultan took a long drag. "Our demands are quite reasonable, considering the situation. The package is not just a list of them. There are also some video recordings, and a political statement we insist be printed in their more important newspapers." 

"Could I have a copy of the demands?" asked Nagy. 

"No. I will summarize them for you, though, Leftenent Colonel Nur. First, the release of certain prisoners held by the Americans, the French, the Japanese, and the Israelis. Second, a suitable aircraft and fuel for our use and safe transport to the airport. Third, ten metric tons of gold. And, of course, the publication and broadcast of our political material." 

"How much time are you giving them?" asked Nagy. 

"Two days," replied Sultan. "I have selected a deadline of four p.m. Monday. That will give us more than four hours of daylight to reach the aircraft if they press to the deadline. Reaching the airport in daylight is a particular concern of yours, isn't it, Leftenent Colonel Nur?" 

Nagy replied, "It is the safer choice, yes." 

Sultan took a last drag on his cigarette and put it out on his plate. "No ashtrays in this place." Then he got up, took the envelope, and said, "I have some business downstairs. Stay here until I return." 

* * *

Katherine Warfield had spent the most miserable night of her life in the East Room, followed so far by the most miserable morning. Like everyone else, she had been struck several times by their captors. Like most adults, she had an agonizingly full bladder. The room reeked of urine from those who had lost control. 

Warfield had found patterns in how the guards acted. When a fresh one came on, he was very active, very rigorous. Then he would slack off, though some of them had more dedication than others. Some dozed off--but not for long; one of the bosses would soon wake them and chew them out, and then they would be extra mean for awhile. 

Katherine Warfield had never faced anything remotely like what was happening to her now. Cowardice, however, was not one of her faults. She did not pee when her name was called out. It was the man called Baiburs. Warfield did not know Arabic or much about Arab culture, but she did remember from a humorous documentary that "Baiburs" was the name of a leader from the middle ages--a particularly severe man in a cruel age. She thought this man had chosen this name to inspire fear. She was right. 

Baiburs did not approach her personally; one of the guards jerked her up by her arm and pushed her in Baiburs direction. She started toward the door Baiburs was waiting in. Before she reached Baiburs, however, an unfamiliar man burst into the room and began shouting in Arabic. The new man stood inches from Baiburs and shouted in his face. Occasionally Baiburs said something, but he never got to say much. 

Eventually the new man stood back and shouted out to the guards. They began cutting the bonds of the prisoners. The new man went to the woman in the wheelchair, and then he examined the woman the guards had beaten so badly. He returned to Baiburs to shout again. Then he approached Warfield herself, and led her out of the room, explaining that he had just learned how the prisoners were being treated. Then he said, "Ms. Warfield, you are going to be released in a few moments. Before you go, I want you to meet someone." He took her to the elevator and knocked. The door opened. Inside was the President, along with two burly men. The door shut again, and the new man led her away, to the tall doors leading opening on the outside steps. He handed her a large envelope. "Ms. Warfield, this is important. It contains a list of our demands. It also contains a code that will authenticate further messages from our organization. You must give this to the proper authorities." 

He opened one of the doors wide enough for her to go out, saying, "My advice is to follow the carpath to the left, once you are at the bottom of the stairs. One of my men told me there seem to be cameras there. I warn you; there are dead people out there. We had to neutralize some of the security people here to get in." 

"Wait," Warfield asked, "Who are you?" 

The leader answered, "We are anonymous. We have no grandiose title for our organization." 

"No, I meant you, yourself." 

"I also will remain anonymous," said the leader. "Now, go." 

Katherine Warfield was not balked by the bodies near the stairs; bodies she had seen and smelled before. About halfway to the gate she realized she still needed very much to pee. She did not get the opportunity for many more minutes. 

* * *

Sultan returned to Fahd and Nagy and said, "I'm releasing the women and children . Colonel Nur, you are in charge of this. This is what I want you to do . . . " 

* * *

As he was ordered, Nagy announced that he was now in charge of the prisoners in the East Room and that he was going to release them, a few at a time, starting with mothers with children. Then he went to the woman in the wheelchair, the one Sultan had told him to release first. He remembered passing by her on the second floor, but that was all. "I have instructions to take care of you first. Do you have children?" 

"I have four. Two here, and two babies. Could you let my friend here go first? She needs help, I think." 

Nagy knew instantly the woman had to be the one who was beaten in front of Maria, and he wondered why Baiburs was not dead. But he said, "No. But your friend will go next." He wheeled the crippled woman away, toward the children, so she could collect hers with minimum fuss. And then-- 

* * *

He was high above a white barren plain lit only by stars. Below, an immense pod opened, its sepals unfolding with a noise like rolling thunder. Something dark and yet not dark was revealed, constantly changing, beyond description because it should not be allowed to exist. A face formed, a face of beauty but white, with the green wash of death . . . 

* * *

"Istvan!" It was Maria. 

"Ah--what is it, Major?" 

Maria was speaking Hungarian. "I thought you got some rest. You were asleep on your feet." 

Nagy said, "I guess I was." That had to be it. But . . . where was he now? The woman in the wheelchair . . . two children nearby. They wore their hair in the same odd way as the woman in the wheelchair. "What do you want, Major?" 

"You called me," she muttered." 

Nagy responded, "Oh . . . Yes I did. The little colonel wants me to handle this evolution personally, so you are in charge." 

Major Horthy asked, "In charge of what? Perimeter defense, or just our people?" 

Nagy said, "Perimeter defense. Don't take crap from Baiburs, but be patient with Fahd. Don't undermine him. We may need to use him later. Do you understand? . . . Do you understand, Major?" 

Horthy replied, "Yes, Colonel." 

Nagy said, "Good. Maybe you should see to your own rest when you can, Major. It looks like we will be here longer than we wished." Nagy turned his attention back to the task of the moment when Maria left: the woman in the wheelchair. "Are these your children?" 

"Yes, my older ones. I have two babies as well." 

"You told me." Had this one noticed his lapse, too? She sounded different than before. "Well, you will need some help, then." Nagy organized it. First he picked out the three more resentful-looking guards and told them they were going to work for a change. The older child was an adolescent, big enough to carry a baby. He sounded out the women in front for a non-mother to help, and picked the one who shouted loudest. It happened to be the Chief of Protocol, but he knew nothing of it. 

* * *

Jean Lawrence was a very good Chief of Protocol, an asset to the United States. But she had never faced real danger in her life. So, she did not know she was a coward until the takeover. When the opportunity came to get away from these monsters presented itself, she thought of nothing more than saving herself. 

Once she was actually walking away, with a strange baby in her arms, she found herself ahead. The woman in the wheelchair rolled up to her and said, "Slow down, please. Kimi can't keep up." 

It brought Jean Lawrence to herself. She was undoubtedly on some camera now, and she would be facing cameras and microphones soon enough. "I'm sorry. I guess I just want to be far from that bunch." 

They walked along in silence. The smaller child walked with a cane, and seemed agonizingly slow. Jean introduced herself and admitted, "I remember you were one of Michiru's friends, but I'm afraid I remember nothing else about you." 

"I am just a housewife," the woman said. 

"Do they have your husband?" asked Lawrence. 

"No, he could not come," said the woman in the wheelchair. "They have my brother." 

Lawrence said, "You were on the second floor, weren't you? I remember, they didn't bring you in until after the lights came on." 

The woman said, "Yes. My friend Rei made a fuss, and they let me use a bed upstairs. I was asleep when they came for me. One of them pointed his gun at me . . . but most of them were nicer. They were tough men, but not mean like the guards in the East Room." 

"Did you see their leader?" asked Lawrence. 

The woman responded with a question. "Do you mean the man who was shouting at Major Baiburs?" 

"Yes, that one. Is he the leader?" asked Lawrence. 

The woman who had met the mysterious leader said, "I think so, but he didn't say so. He said nothing to me that was important. He said nothing that he thought was important." 

"What do you mean?" asked Lawrence. 

The woman said, "I think he wanted me to remember that he was kind to me. I think he wants all of us to tell our people that he showed mercy." 

They were approaching the gate. There were flies, not clouds of them, but enough to be noticed. A foul smell wafted out of the gatehouse. Strange, she had seen the bodies by the steps, and had to stand near them for some time, while the guards brought down the crippled woman and her wheelchair. She had stood that well enough, but this was worse, somehow. She balked. 

"Come on," said the adolescent. "Major Nur said he won't release anyone else until we are out." 

Beyond the gate, Pennsylvania Avenue looked deserted. Someone emerged from behind the Executive Office Building, though, and motioned. The walk to 17th Street was longer, but felt far shorter to Jean Lawrence. 

* * *

It was just past noon in the District of Columbia when the Chief of Protocol spoke her first words to the press. Katherine Warfield had already been whisked away by no less than the Acting Director of the FBI, who got to see what was in the envelope and began making some power calls. The reporters were starving for story when Jean Lawrence. She introduced Mrs. Chiba and her family, said hello to her husband, and that was it before she, too, was whisked away by the FBI, this time the Special Agent left in charge and several assistants. After the man left in charge had taken off with his own career builder, the Bureau was left with only one Special Agent, Ballin, and two more agents, none of whom really knew each other; they had been warm bodies snatched up and sped to the scene. The reporters mobbed Mrs Chiba. She was nobody important, of course, but she was all they had. 

After she had identified herself and her children again, Mrs. Chiba told the reporters about her meeting with the man who might be the leader of the terrorists, and of how he had bawled out the man in charge of the guards who had been so bad to the women and children. "Stockholm Syndrome," muttered the Special Agent. 

"Don't be too sure," said Ballin. "I'd like to handle this one." 

"Why?" asked the Special Agent. 

"I 've done background on her. There's some strange stuff." 

Mrs. Chiba had borrowed a phone from one of the reporters. She began talking rapidly in Japanese. 

"How strange?" asked the Special Agent. 

"Have you heard about Blue Note?" murmured Ballin. That was the code for Tiggs' operation. 

"Christ! How--" The Special Agent quickly recovered his composure. "Go on." 

Ballin said, "All the women with children know each other. The ones to really worry about are Minako Jones and Setsuna Meiou." 

"See what you can do with this one now," said the Special Agent. "But stick around. The Bureau is too thin on the ground here." 

Ballin asked for a few quiet words with Mrs. Chiba. She did not want to leave the scene until her friends were released. So, Ballin improvised some privacy by making a deal with the SWAT team Lieutenant on the scene, and tried again. "Privacy" was an old armored personel carrier now used by DC SWAT; it had a large back door that doubled as a ramp. He had to share with the SWAT Lieutenant, of course, but compromises have to be made to get things done. 

The Lieutenant started out with tactical questions. "How many men to the intruders have?" 

Mrs. Chiba said, "I do not know. I saw maybe thirty in all, but I think there were more I did not see." 

The oldest child said, "I was in the East Room when they came in. Maybe a dozen came in at first. They were fast and they all had those goggles you can see in the dark with, except for Colonel Nur. Then after a little while, there was a lot of noise and more men came. Major Baiburs had maybe twice as many men to start out. It was still dark; I couldn't really count them, but it was about twice as many . . . anyway, I guess I saw thirty, thirty five. But I don't think they were all the same guys Mom saw." 

"Why?" asked Ballin. 

Mrs Chiba said, "The men I met upstairs were not mean, most of them. Most of them spoke Arabic, like Major Baiburs and his men. They did not act the same. And there were men who spoke other languages. I think those men belonged to Colonel Nag--to Colonel Nur." 

"Colonel Nur is their spokesman," remarked the Lieutenant. "Do you think he is the leader?" 

"No," said Mrs. Chiba. "Their leader is the man who met me before I was taken downstairs. He is the man we saw yelling at Major Baiburs." 

Ballin said, "You seem to have a high opinion of him." 

Mrs. Chiba paused for a long moment, and the Lieutenant began to ask another question. But Mrs. Chiba cut him off. "I told the reporters what he expected me to tell him. My friends are still his hostages, and my brother, and his wife, and their daughter. Any of my friends will tell you I am not the smartest person, but I do not believe that this man did not know how we were being treated." 

There was a short silence. Then the Lieutenant repeated his question. "Can you tell us anything about their weapons?" 

Mrs. Chiba said, "Most of them have rifles. I saw one man with something that might have been a bazooka, but it was still dark and I was not very close." 

"Where was that?" asked the Lieutenant. 

Mrs. Chiba said, "I was upstairs. They did not take me down until after the lights came back on." 

Ballin asked, "Did you see the President?" 

"No," said Mrs. Chiba. 

Then the second-oldest girl, the one who used the cane, piped up. "They took the President to the second basement." 

The Lieutenant, sounding amused, leaned down so that he was eye-to-eye with the little girl. "And how would you know that?" 

"Well . . ." replied the child. "The first one they let go was a reporter. I remember because she came to our house once. The man who let her go made her stop in front of the elevator, and the door opened, and there was the President, and then the door closed, and the man took her away and sent her outside. But I could see the lights on the elevator. It went all the way down." 

Mrs. Chiba said something in Japanese, and the girl replied in the same language. Mrs. Chiba said something else after a moment. 

Ballin said, "May I ask what you were saying?" 

"It is not important to you," Mrs. Chiba replied. "There is something else I want you to know, something I did not tell the reporters. One of their men got very sick. It was one of the men belonging to Major Baiburs." 

"I remember him," said the oldest girl. "He was the worst." 

"What do you mean, very sick?" asked the Lieutenant. 

"He couldn't stand up," said the oldest girl. "They carried him away." 

Mrs. Chiba said, "After that happened, Major Baiburs came and took away three of my friends. Ami and Ginger are doctors, and Minako is a nurse. I think he took them to help the sick man." 

"Well, I suppose they might give us a more complete picture of what's happening inside," said the Lieutenant. 

"Yes," said Mrs. Chiba. "Ami speaks Arabic, and German, French, and Spanish, so she . . . " She trailed off. Then she began speaking Japanese. The two older daughters joined in. It was all over quickly, but it sounded like a lot had been said. Mrs. Chiba said, "I should have thought . . . Colonel Nur assured me, but . . . They won't let them go. Baiburs knows that Ami speaks Arabic. We have not seen them since they were taken away . . . I should have thought." Mrs. Chiba was crying. 

The oldest girl said something in Japanese--or was it? Ballin was no linguist, but it sounded not at all like what had been said before. Then the girl said, "Leave my mom alone for now. We need to go someplace to clean up and--" 

Mrs. Chiba said something sharply, which began a long exchange between her and her daughters, none of which Ballin understood. Eventually she was taken off in the same ambulance as Ms. Hino. 

* * *

Noon in the District of Columbia was nine in California, where Dr. Mamoru Chiba had been at the end of his thirty-six hours of duty. He had not been sure Usagi had been at the White House when it was taken over until she called him--word that she had been on television arrived about a minute later. 

The Chief of Staff caught Mamoru on his way out, and asked if there was anything he could do. "No," replied Mamoru. "Not now." 

"Are you going to Washington?" asked the Chief of Staff in the voice he used to comfort the bereaved and fend off lawsuits. 

"I was ready to go anyway," replied Mamoru. 

"Of course. I'd forgotten." Mamoru was starting his vacation. The Chief of Staff said, "You might not get through. I heard they were cancelling some flights to Washington." 

"I'll find a way," said Mamoru. 

* * *

As he promised, Nagy released the badly beaten one next. Then he eliminated the next largest problem by releasing Mrs. Umino and her _nine_ children; then Mrs. Urawa and her six. But the next largest family on the list was the nurse's: four children. The prisoners kept inquiring about the women who had been taken away. He put them off with "later" and "not yet," which was true at first; he sent off one of Baiburs' men to fetch them. But the man did not return, and Nagy realized Sultan might have no intention of releasing them. Still, he went on playing his part. Nagy could not have lasted this long if if he could not act a convincing role. 

The last mother from the East Room, however, said to him, once she had her single child in her arms, "You are not releasing the three you took away, are you?" 

Counting three cots still containing infants, Nagy said, "I told you, later. Now--" 

"Are you going to release their children?" asked the woman in a clear, quiet, unsettling voice. 

There was a point. Sultan had not been specific about that. But Nagy was inclined to do it; he was a very hard man, but not a cruel one. Besides, the children were nuisances, distractions. Better to get them all out of the way while he had the chance. "Yes, I am releasing them." 

The woman said, "Let me take them. The older ones know me; there is no one after me they will trust. My companion Lorraine can take one of the babies. Ishtar can manage another. We would need only one more for the third baby." 

Nagy eyed this one. By his lights, she was the most attractive of the women, swarthy as himself or his mother. And she was quite unafraid; he was certain of that. 

"I will take your suggestion," Nagy replied. "We will return to the East Room, and you will gather up your friend and the children without fuss. But say as little about your missing friends as you can. Nothing would be best. We have things we want to keep secret, and we will take harsh measures to do it." 

The woman said, "I believe you, Colonel. Thank you. I will remember this." 

Nagy was generous. He sent the woman off with her companion and two of the servants they had captured, both black. Nagy was summoned to see Sultan after that, and wondered if he had made a mistake. The group was not off the grounds yet, but getting them back was a bad idea. 

Sultan was watching television on a large set which could monitor sixteen channels at once. He asked, "Have you sent off the last of the children?" 

"Yes," Nagy replied. "I sent off the ones belonging to the women we selected for medical duty with this group. I sent two black servants as will. Five of the children are black. This will make a good picture for the Americans. This city is mostly black, you know. Later you might think of releasing the black males for some favorable coverage." 

Sultan said, "That is an option I have considered. Of course, one of the black men is a Secret Service agent, one is the Chief of Security, and two of them are guards, according to Major Baiburs' report." 

"He is efficient in many ways," said Nagy. 

"He is efficient in _all_ ways, Colonel," retorted Sultan. 

Nagy was not willing to let that pass unremarked. "Baiburs has hardly presented us with the best image, Commander. Abusing women and children will not play well. _Is_ not playing well, as you can see." Two of the channels were showing images of the beaten woman. 

Sultan did not bother to look at Nagy. "Baiburs has demonstrated that we have ruthless men among us. You and I have shown that we are capable of reason and kindness. After all, we have to seem hard enough to frighten them, yet not so much that they decide the best way to save the hostages is by eliminating us. . . . Colonel, how many women are left now? Besides the three medics?" 

"About a dozen," replied Nagy. 

"Can they work?" asked Sultan. 

Nagy responded, "I suppose. What do you have in mind?" 

Sultan said, still without turning away from the screen, "I want you send them out in pairs to carry away the bodies by the stairs. They are close to some of the air intakes. We can't use the air conditioning without bringing their stink inside." 

"Yes, Commander," said Nagy. "How far away do you want them?" 

Sultan said, "All the way off the grounds. And if you have enough able-bodied women, use them to clear the bodies from the grounds. Have the north patrol deal with any bodies that are left. Tell the Americans we will let them remove their dead later, according to instructions we will give them." Sultan turned to fix snake eyes on Nagy. "Do you approve?" 

"Yes," replied Nagy. "It shows decency, but also reminds them how hard we can be." 

"See to it, Colonel," said Sultan, turning back to the television. 

* * *

**Chapter 21: Hizzoner**

HIS HONOR THE MAYOR of the District of Columbia, Winston "Winnie" Clayborne, had not been invited to the performance, a telling slight. He was, of course, a member of the _other _party. But he was, and, more important, was _known to be_ a classical music affectionado. Rather than draw attention to the incident and seem small, he took the advice of his consultants and found a reason to be elsewhere that night. 

"Elsewhere" had been an awards banquet in Atlanta. The breaking story had caught him in bed with a lady who was most unlike his wife, but that was not really important. What was important was that he was far from Washington. Winnie discovered that he lacked the clout to borrow a corporate jet or to wrangle a military flight. Chartering a suitable plane proved beyond his purse. So, he was forced to take the commercial flight he had already booked. It was diverted to Dulles from Washington National, but he made Alexandria by noon. There was some delay at the bridge, but after that, the Mayor was on his way to the scene of the action. 

* * *

It is not as if there were not plans for emergencies at the White House. There had been all kinds of studies over the years, some of them so ludicrous they were buried under a mountain of classification. Some of them were actually useful--after all, the air defense system, while useless against trucks, vans, or buses, had stopped a slow, unstealthy cruise missile. Many agencies had thought mighty thoughts about these things. 

Now that it had actually happened, thought, no one knew what to do, although some acted as if they did. Then there was the question of who was in charge. In theory, the Vice President is in charge the instant the President is incapacitated. In fact, the Vice President had been Vice President long enough to become an afterthought, like all Vice Presidents. No one could really take him seriously yet. Besides, he was in Belgium when the crisis erupted; he was just beginning the flight back when the first hostage was released. 

In such confused situations, power can easily go to the most ambitious and assertive. These qualities were possessed in spades by Anne Kerkorian, Acting Director of the FBI. She sped to the scene and snatched up Katherine Warfield, who honored her by surrendering the envelope. After seeing what was inside, the Acting Director began making her power calls. 

In her excitement, however, Kerkorian did not clearly establish control of the other released hostages, and did not give them much thought. Without her clear direction, and with the exit of Special Agent Potter and four others, Special Agent Brickline, with all of a week's seniority, was not able to get a rapid response from the J. Edgar Hoover building, even when he mentioned "Blue Note." 

* * *

**1:12 pm EDT**

The Mayor's luck still seemed poor when he arrived, for Michiru had already come and gone--she was nearby, somewhere, but she was not in front of the cameras, and he had not been there when she had come out. He sent someone to her, but he stayed on the scene, talking to police, and, of course, to the reporters, who had no one else to talk to for some minutes since a nobody named Hotaru Tsukino had come out with her child. 

* * *

**1:12 pm EDT**

The APC had become the recognized interrogation room by now, and it had a new staffer: Major Vierhofen, an army guy. He knew how to get a lot. For instance, by asking pertinent questions, he had been able to get much more detail about the terrorist's weapons from witnesses who knew little or nothing about weapons. 

He also knew a lot of languages, and he was interested in particular in the languages Colonel Nur's men had spoken, and especially Colonel Nur himself. To identify this, he spoke a few phrases from a language, and asked her if Nur had sounded like that. She found one that she said fit. 

Ballin had a different agenda, but he could hardly ask about the connection to the Jones affair with witnesses. He asked her, "How well do you know the women who were taken away?" 

The frail-looking young mother replied, "I have known Mizuno-san and Aino-san since I was small. Dr. Han I do not know as well, but she has been a good friend." 

Ballin asked, "Why were they taken away?" 

Mrs. Tsukino answered, "No one would tell us. But it happened soon after one of their men got sick. I think they wanted Mizuno-san and the others for their sick man." 

"Are you sure he was really sick?" asked Ballin. "Could he have been faking?" 

Mrs. Tsukino asked, "Why would he do that?" 

Ballin shrugged. "Perhaps to get out of work. Or perhaps he was ordered to do it, so they would have an excuse to take your friends away. Now, are you really sure he was sick?" 

Mrs. Tsukino said, "He sat down, and the man in charge came to him and yelled at him. He slapped him, and he fell off the chair. He tried to get up, but he did not. When the others pulled him up, he threw up. There was also a bad smell. I think he emptied his bowels, too." 

Ballin said, "Well, he was either very sick, or a very good actor. One more thing. Do you remember how they called your three friends? That is, who was first, second, and last?" 

"Yes. First they called Aino-san, then Dr. Han, and finally Mizuno-san." 

Ballin asked, "Was it all at once, or did they take away one or two first?" 

"It was all at the same time. A man came in with a list and read their names off." 

Ballin asked, "Can you tell me exactly how he said each name?" 

"It was 'Nurse Aino,' 'Dr. Han,' and 'Dr. Sumi.'" 

"Dr. Sumi?" 

"Yes. Sumi is Mizuno-san's married name." 

"But it was 'Nurse Aino,' not 'Nurse Jones.' You are sure of that?" asked Ballin. 

"Yes, I am sure. Why is this so important?" 

"It may not be," said Ballin, "You can go join your friends now." 

After Mrs. Tsukino was shepherded away by a cop, the SWAT Lieutenant asked, "Why do you keep asking about those three women?" 

Ballin responded, "For one thing, every one of them has said it was 'Aino,' 'Han,' and 'Sumi.' That's exactly how they appear on the sheet that was sent to the Bureau a few days ago." 

"So?" asked the Lieutenant. "They must have found it on the scene. It wouldn't be very hard to find, would it. Not exactly Top Secret. 

"The official guest list for the evening reads 'Han,' 'Jones,' and 'Mizuno,' in that order. I'm thinking that the hacker who got into the White House computers may have gotten into ours, too." Ballin turned to the Major. "What are you getting at with all those hardware questions? They have different kinds of guns, but they all shoot pretty much the same bullets." 

"Yes, they do, pretty much. The brutal guards, they all are using the same gun: the Galil. It looks like an AK-47, but it fires the same 5.56 millimeter NATO round we use. Colonel Nur's men have Steyrs, Lancasters, M16's, and perhaps one of the French weapons, but they all fire the same round." The Major put a new cassette in his recorder, something of an anachronism in Washington, where the newer, more expensive digital recorders were very much in style. "It also tells me that Nur's men are probably genuine mercs. They don't have to use different guns; they want to." 

"What does all that language testing tell you?" asked Ballin. 

"It tells me that Nur speaks Hungarian. That's not very common at all in the mercenary trade. There hasn't been any fighting in Hungary in over half a century now, and very few served anywhere else in the world like the Cubans and East Germans before 1989. The Hungarian army has no reputation, so who wants them? There's a little resistance activity in Romania right now by Hungarian speakers, but they've got no outside support. Besides, Colonel Nur doesn't read as a political." 

Kincaid, the SWAT Lieutenant, said, "Well, why don't you two masterminds solve the rest of the world's problems while I have a smoke." But a few steps away from the APC, he exclaimed, "Hey, you want to meet the Mayor?" 

* * *

**1:19 pm EDT**

His Honor's luck improved, for who should come out but the first African-American hostages to be released: two women, both with children. There was also a white woman, and two orientals, one a woman and one a girl. The Mayor walked out to meet them, breeching the police line and bringing through staff and, of course, reporters and cameras. "What can I do for you? I'm Winston Clayborne, the Mayor. Ask for it, and if it is in my power, I will get it for you."

The magnificent picture was somewhat spoiled when the two African- American toddlers broke away from the woman who was holding their arms and ran screaming to the oriental girl, who was holding a dark-skinned baby. That woman said, "You're welcome to them!" and then asked where the nearest bathroom was. The other African-American woman introduced herself as Noreen Sweetley and said she had just joined the White House staff in April. She began a long story. 

* * *

**1:24 pm EDT**

Meanwhile, Ballin sought out Setsuna Meiou. Even if Marty's ex wasn't next to her, he could have picked her out instantly. There was a clot of reporters, but Meiou wasn't giving them much. Instead, she was talking to two girls, about the same size, maybe four, maybe five. Both the girls were crying. Meiou was talking to them in Japanese. Ballin switched on his recorder on a vague feeling, but left it in his pocket. He waited until Meiou stopped talking to the girls before asking her, like the others, for a few minutes alone, while her memories were fresh. 

Meiou startled him by saying, "You are Victor Ballin, aren't you?" 

Ballin nodded. _Lorraine told her,_ he thought. "I'm on official business now, Ms. Meiou. Will you come with me?" 

"I will come," replied Meiou smoothly, "If you bring Mizuno-san's baby. That woman has her, and I think she will be talking for a long time." 

Setsuna Meiou did not have a terribly different story from the others, and neither did Lorraine, although they had spent most of their confinement in different parts of the East Room. Ballin wanted to be dubious about her story about how she had taken the children of the three missing women, but Meiou seemed unshakeable. He was also distracted by Lorraine. She seemed utterly under Meiou's spell, whatever it was. 

Besides, there was the Lieutenant and the Major. He could hardly press any of the Blue Note buttons with them around. 

* * *

**2:04 pm EDT**

The University Hospital was an obvious place to take the hostages. It was a short drive, straight up Pennsylvania Avenue. But it was also far enough from the White House to be isolated from the incident site. The Chief of Police, a competent man and also one with further ambitions, had anticipated hostage releases and casualties in his force, and made plans to handle them in a cleared ward. The early release surprised him, but his plans were implemented fairly quickly and successfully. 

Only hospital staff and "authorized" people were allowed into the ward, as Mamoru discovered on his first attempt to enter. Claims to be family did not impress the cops. Besu's attempt to vamp them made things worse. 

However, Dr. Mamoru Chiba knew his way around a hospital. He obtained a set of scrubs and found another entrance to the ward. He found some of the children in a lounge. Kimi, Ishtar, Lily, and Nereid were upon him in an instant. 

Adult supervision for the moment was provided by Makoto, who asked, "Chiba-san, how did you get here?" 

"The Asteroid sisters brought me. We came in on the roof. There are cameras and people up there, but they were all looking the other way. Where is Usako? And Chibi-Usa?" 

Makoto answered, "Usagi-chan is in the room with Rei-chan. They gave her a sedative. She was very upset. Chiba-san, you must be careful. There--" 

"Excuse me. Could I see your ID?" 

It was a policeman. A man in a suit stood by him. 

Mamoru had dealt with many a policeman by now. He slowly took out his ID and explained, "I am Dr. Chiba. My family is here. You wouldn't let me in." 

The man in the suit took the ID from the cop, and said, "Dr. Mamoru Chiba?" 

"Yes." 

"I know him," said Makoto. "He means no harm." 

"He is my father," said Nereid solemnly. 

"Mine too," said Kimi. 

"And mine too," said Ishtar. 

"He's my daddy!" said Lily. "He'll save Mommy!" 

The man in the suit laughed. "He is who he says, Sergeant. I just did background on him." He handed back the ID. 

The cop said, "All right, Dr. Chiba. Do you want to explain how you got in here?" 

"I borrowed these clothes, and then I borrowed a cleaning cart. No one seems to notice cleaning people." 

"Our men will from now on," said the Sergeant. "Come and show me who let you by." 

"Sergeant, would you let me have him? There are some questions I want to ask this man." 

The cop hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "Don't wander off, Doctor. We have some questions, too." Then he went away. 

The man in the suit stayed. Mamoru said, "Could I see my family first?" 

"Certainly," said the man in the suit, reaching inside his coat for a moment. 

Mamoru's daughters all wanted to talk at once. 

* * *

Mamoru found Usagi unconscious. Rei explained, in Japanese, "Usagi blames herself for putting Minako, Ami, and Ginger in danger. We got her to take the sedative. It seemed best. We did not think you would get here so quickly." Then Rei switched to the Old Language. "We guessed wrong. They don't know about us." 

Mamoru asked, "How badly did they hurt you?" 

Rei switched to English. "They broke three bones in my foot and five ribs. When this is all over, I am going to sue!" 

Mamoru shook his head. 

* * *

Ballin took Chiba to a landing on the stairs, the most private place he could find for the moment. Dr. Chiba said, "Thank you for giving me time with my family." 

Ballin said, "Your kids seem to think a lot of you. They've gone through some bad times." 

"Yes," responded Dr. Chiba. "They were very brave, all of them." 

"Especially Kimberly, the one with the bad leg. She was assaulted just a few months ago, wasn't she?" 

"Yes," said Dr. Chiba. "May I ask how you know that? It is not something we talk about." 

"I did background research on you. You and the other guests; we do that for all people who meet with the President." Ballin decided to shift to another topic, for the moment. "I remember your wife used a phone before she talked to us. Did she call you?" 

"Yes." 

Ballin said, "Tell me about the call, anything she told you about the incident." 

Dr. Chiba hesitated before speaking. Perhaps he was trying to remember, or maybe he was figuring out what he should say. "She said that they were releasing the women and children a few at a time. She told me about the men being taken away. No, she told me the men had been taken away. She did not actually see that . . . She said that they had promised to release Hino-san next, and that some of them had beaten Rei badly. Then she talked about the children." 

Ballin asked, "Did she mention Colonel Nur? Or another leader who seemed to be kind to the prisoners?" 

"No," replied Chiba. 

Ballin said, "Is that all she said about the situation here?" 

"She said there were a lot of people who wanted to ask her questions," said Chiba. "That did not surprise me." 

"Well, your wife witnessed things none of the other released hostages did," said Ballin. "I'm afraid we will be asking her more questions as soon as she is able to answer. I'm sorry about that, Dr. Chiba, but that is just how things are going to be." 

Dr. Chiba said, "I understand." 

Ballin said, "You wife has gone through a lot. Being crippled in an unsolved shooting, then the unsolved attack on your daughter, and now this. I can understand how she might go over the edge for awhile. We all have our limits." 

Dr. Chiba was silent. 

Ballin said, "You had a child with Minako Jones. Ms. Jones interested the Director enough to warn the President about her. The President decided to let her come to the White House anyway." 

Dr. Chiba said, "Minako is a good citizen of this country. She has never been accused of any crime." 

"That is what I told the President," Ballin said. "Unfortunately the same thing cannot be said for her late husband, and certainly not his brother. I didn't need to use any of the Bureau's confidential files to find that family connection. Some newshound will pick up on it soon enough. In fact there was supposed to be a guy at the White House last night who wrote a story about Ms. Jones. He might be one of the hostages." 

A hospital staffer passed by them in the stairwell. After that interruption, perhaps when he was sure the stranger was gone, Dr. Chiba said, "You seem to be hinting that you want me to confess something. What do you want from me, Mr. Ballin?" 

"What do I want?" responded Ballin. He considered the concept, and decided to be candid. "What _I_ want from you is what you really know about the brothers Jones, about Martin Tiggs, and about what went on between them." He paused, but not long enough to draw a response. "The Bureau, frankly, would as soon leave the Jones case dead and buried with the brothers. But with this happening, someone is liable to dig it up." 

"This has nothing to do with the crisis here," responded Chiba, a bit of tension apparent in his tone. With more care, he continued. "I knew of Kevin Jones' past, but I was careful not to question him about it. I, my wife, and the rest of Minako's friends accepted him as we found him. We gave him, in the American phrase, a 'fresh start.' He was good to Minako, and good to our daughter Ishtar." 

"You became friends with him, then?" 

"No," said Chiba. "But I came to know him quite well. Nothing about his criminal activities, of course--though he was not a criminal when I knew him, I am sure of that." Chiba seemed to look into the distance. "I would say he was never a _criminal_, someone who commits crimes just to make a living. He was a samurai in the service of his brother, a fighter, a warrior, a soldier . . . " Chiba's gaze returned to Ballin. "That is how he seemed to me." 

"Now your friend," continued Chiba, "I knew him as Meiou-san's husband. He lived with us for a much shorter time than Minako's husband. I did not come to know him well." 

"How well did you come to know Marvell Jones?" asked Ballin. 

"I spoke with him only a few times," answered Chiba. "I never met him in person. I always talked with him on the phone. He called when Kevin and later when their mother were in my hospital, and I was on duty. Once he did call me at home, but it was to ask about his mother. He was trying to decide whether to visit her." Chiba shook his head. "I told him not to come. She was in a coma, and there was always the chance one of his enemies was watching the hospital. I told him that. I did not want him to bring his war into my hospital. But he did not take my advice. He was killed on the next day." 

Ballin heard someone coming again on the stairs. He pulled out one of his cards, wrote on the back, and handed it to Chiba. "If you ever _remember_ more, this is my private number." 

Chiba took it, looked at both sides, and said, "I do not have a suitable pocket for this now. Could I get my clothes before someone takes them away? They are not far." 

"I'll keep you company," said Ballin. 

"Agent Ballin," said Chiba, "I came here to be with my family and my friends. I am not going to run away." 

"Well," said Ballin, "I wouldn't want you to get lost." 

* * *

**2:30 pm EDT**

His Honor the Mayor had finally arrived, escorting his favored reporters through the lines for his meeting with the released hostages. He spoke again with the two black women. This time the older one was ready to talk, and it went well. He went next to some of the women who had brought out the bodies; they had had long enough to recover a bit from the experience, and, again, the Mayor did well and was seen doing it. The mothers still seemed reluctant, but then Michiru emerged and gave a wonderful performance, describing the entire evening and the fateful delay of Roland Descartes that kept them at the White House so late. Then she described the takeover, and the ordeal afterward. She let the Mayor draw it most of it out of her, but occasionally she would respond to a reporter's question. The Mayor was not a fool: he recognized it for what it was: a performance. But it was a superb performance. 

After the press was shooed out, the Mayor asked for a few words alone with Michiru. That was not really possible inside the crowded ward, but he felt safe in her room, where only her most camera-shy friends were. 

"I really do have all your recordings, Ma'am," said the Mayor. "And I listen to them often." 

"Thank you," said Michiru. "I am sorry you had to miss this performance. But perhaps you are not sorry?" 

Clayborne chuckled. "To tell the truth, I was _steamed_ when I wasn't invited." Then he got to the question he really wanted to ask. "You put on a show out there, a real good one. Do you mind telling me why?" 

"The reporters wanted a show," said Michiru. "I know how to put on a show. My friends do not, especially now." The performance was clearly over; she sounded bone-weary. 

The Mayor said, "I can get you all places to stay. You'll want to stay over until this is finished, won't you?" 

Michiru's companion, whom the Mayor recognized but had not spoken with, said, "We have rooms in a hotel. All of us, together." 

Another woman, a very young one he didn't remember at all, said, "We were going to stay on to see all the sights here." 

The Mayor said, "The reporters will have found your hotel by now. Where is it?" The little one described it, and the Mayor said, "That's out on the beltway. I can't do much for you there. But I can get you some privacy here, if you want it." He turned to face Michiru. "You and Mrs. Descartes, just about any reporter would recognize you right away. I can put you in my residence here, or I can get you to a very safe place about an hour out of town. The rest of your friends I can put in with my people, but not all together; they would attract attention. What do you think?" 

Michiru said, "That is a good offer. I must talk to all my friends first."

"Take your time to decide," said the Mayor. He pulled out one of his cards, and wrote on the back. "Leave your message at this number. They can reach me anywhere." Handing Michiru his card, he asked, "How were you planning to get back to your hotel, anyway? Getting over the bridges is pretty hard now."

"We chartered a bus," said Michiru's tall companion. "With so many of us, it was more practical."

"And less expensive," said Michiru, looking over the card. "Again, your offer is kind, but I must talk with my friends, Your Honor."

After leaving Michiru and her friends, the Mayor took steps to ensure they would accept his hospitality. Why subject them to some tourist trap after all this? A charter bus company needed to keep on good terms with the District, so it would not be a problem to make sure their bus was delayed . . . 

* * *

**3:26 pm EDT**

Unlike Sultan, Baiburs, or even Fahd, Nagy had not laid exclusive claim to a bedroom. Beds were too few for everyone, even sleeping in shifts. Once he had decided it was time for some rest, Nagy simply looked for a likely place--and he found one. 

"Sergeiev, what are you doing watching television? Get up and let me put that bed to some use." 

Sergeiev scowled and growled. But he scowled and growled at pretty much everything. Nagy was not impressed. However, Sergeiev spoke up, something the tight-lipped Siberian did not do lightly. "The Americans are not broadcasting our demands, Colonel." 

Nagy said, "You mean 'Commander Sargon's demands,' don't you, Warrant Officer Sergeiev?" 

Sergeiev said, "They have had the demands for more than three hours now. What are they saying to you?" 

Nagy could not give Sergeiev a pat answer. Sergeiev was a good soldier, but he was not an automaton. Neither was he a fool. 

"The negotiatiors are trying to stall, of course. The policeman keeps trying to be my _friend._ The military man keeps reminding me of how hopeless my tactical situation is. The man from their State Department is always waiting to hear from his superiors." Nagy shook his head. "It is all so much wind. Their Vice President will make the decision." 

Sergeiev grunted as he climbed back into his web gear. 

* * *

The Mayor had left University Hospital at 3:10 pm. At that moment, he was the most powerful man in the District of Columbia and the most visible man in the world. All National Guard units in the city were active and under his authority, and the Governors of Maryland and Virginia had pledged cooperation with him, in public. 

The reign of Winston Clayborne was destined to be a brief one, though. Certain contents of the envelope Katherine Warfield had handed over to the Acting Director of the FBI had finally reached a place where they could be evaluated properly. At 3:26, the first results came in. Analysis was not definitive yet, but the first results were_ very_ impressive. The news of the first results percolated through a very select group in and around the District of Columbia, a group that did _not_ include the Mayor or anyone associated with him. Then, in coded, and considered, form, it went to Air Force Two, where, decoded, it was handed to the Vice-President at 4:17, EDT ( the Vice President was still two time zones to the east). 

At 4:19 pm, EDT, the Vice President of the United States said, "The first thing we are going to do is federalize the Guard in D.C, Maryland, and Virginia. The Army is going to be in charge, and _I_ am in charge of the Army. Next . . . " 

* * *

Next: Sunset, and the second night of the crisis begins. What was so interesting about the contents of that package? And how long will the _senshi_ wait to intervene?

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	7. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part Seven**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

**Chapter 22: Three Women**

ISTVAN WAS IN A HUSSAR'S UNIFORM, and Maria was in an Empire gown. They were dancing on a parquet floor which seemed to stretch limitlessly in all directions. Stars were visible overhead, and brilliant crescent moons, large and in many colors. Thunder sounded in the distance, or perhaps artillery . . .

Maria spoke to him. "Colonel. Colonel."

"What is it?" asked Nagy, not quite released from his dreams. Maria's gown was presently replaced by the shirt-and-slacks she had donned before driving the truck to the White House.

"Time to get up. _Commander Sargon_ wants you again," said Major Horthy, emphasizing and perhaps satirizing Sultan's new identity by drawing out the words.

Yawning, Nagy checked his watch. He'd been asleep for nearly five hours. "You should have wakened me sooner. What's been happening?"

"The Americans have declared martial law," said Horthy, "and Major Baiburs' man has died."

Neither event surprised Nagy. He yawned again, deciding not to tell Maria about his strange dreams.

* * *

**8:06 pm EDT**

Sultan asked Nagy, "Colonel Nur, what do you think this implies for us?" 

Nagy had noticed that Sultan was being very formal and very polite--notably to Fahd, but also noticeably to himself. He responded in the same way. "Commander, with martial law and now the curfew, they will be able to clear the streets and move in more forces. They can also get the reporters out. While neither of these steps is really necessary in a military sense, since they already have many armed men surrounding us, it may make them feel more confident to move against us." 

"Yes, it could mean that," said Sultan. "Are there other interpretations?" 

Nagy aimed his words more at Fahd than anyone else. "These are gestures that make their Vice President look strong. That is certainly one thing he will consider. Perhaps it is the only thing he means by them. There is also the practical consideration of crime. With so many police here, criminals in other parts of the city will think of taking advantage. The implied severity of martial law and the curfew will discourage some of them. Perhaps more important to their Vice President, he will be seen as taking strong measures for the safety of his law-abiding citizens." 

"What is the most _likely_ interpretation?" asked Sultan, sounding very much like a professor--that was a persona he used a lot now, Nagy noticed, and he wondered if it said something about his background. "In your opinion, Colonel." 

Nagy replied, "I think their Vice President has taken this act primarily to show that he is in command now. I doubt very much if he has decided to attack us, but he will have advisors pointing out to him that he will now have more freedom to move on us." 

Baiburs muttered something, and Sultan picked up the remote. He was still glancing at the television, though the sound was muted. 

Sultan said, "If you were with the Americans, Colonel, when and where would you attack us?" 

Nagy said, "As I have said before, the best time would be during the evacuation. That is why I want it to be in daylight." 

"Why not attack us here, Colonel?" asked Sultan. "You would have plans to every square centimeter." 

Again, Nagy addressed himself to Fahd's concerns. "This is one of their greatest national symbols. They will not want to damage it. Even if they are willing to damage this place, the more force they use, the more likely they will harm their own people, so they will be unlikely to use more than infantry weapons. Given that limitation, they cannot overcome us before we can kill the prisoners. They know how harshly we have dealt with women and children, thanks to Major Baiburs. They will assume we will be as hard or harder with their men." 

Nagy paused long enough to make a coda, and then added, "Ambushing us along the evacuation route is the smarter move, but it has little chance of succeeding. In Munich in 1972, German  [_spetsnaz_1][2], perhaps the finest in the world at the time, tried to free Israeli prisoners from quite poorly trained and equipped Palestinian fighters during a similar evacuation, at night. All the prisoners died. We are a many times more effective force." 

Sultan waited for Nagy to finish, and then said, "Thank you, Colonel. Major Fahd, you may go." Then he picked up the remote and brought up a recorded portion, freezing the first frame. "Colonel Nur, this is one of the medical women. What do you know of her?" 

Nagy shook his head. "I don't recognize her. Who is she?" 

Baiburs said, "This one is named Mizuno. She is a doctor, she speaks Arabic, and three of the children belonged to her. We also have her husband." 

Nagy said, "The others all asked for her. The other mothers, that is, including Michiru." 

Sultan started the clip. "--tured here with her mother at the African Medical Assistance Society conference in Capetown, South Africa last year. The elder Dr. Mizuno, Vice-Chairman of the AMAS, is reported to be on her way to the United States from Chad. Dr. Mizuno's husband, Kurume Sumi, is the president of Mercurius, a California-based computer techology firm with a current stock value of--" 

Sultan switched off the recording and killed the sound again. He lit up a cigarette--not one of his special ones, Nagy noticed. After a couple of puffs he said, "Major Baiburs, bring that one here. Bring _all_ of the women." 

Sultan continued to watch the television and smoke for awhile. Nagy asked, "May I return to my post?" 

"No. Not yet. I'm not finished with you . . . The American television seems to be acting in our favor." 

"In our favor?" Nagy was startled. 

"In the _military _sense, Colonel," said Sultan. "All those cameras out there are showing us what the Americans are doing. We must remind the Americans how much we love their television and how much we want to go on watching. In your next communication with them, tell them we will take any measures to restrict press coverage in the area under martial law to be suspicious actions." 

Nagy said, "We can't rely on their television even if they let their reporters roam freely." 

"No. I have other resources," said Sultan. "But you will agree that their television is useful to us?" 

"Yes," said Nagy. He let the matter drop. 

Sultan was smoking his second cigarette before he spoke again. "I appreciate the way you explained things to Major Fahd. What is your unbiased assessment of the situation for tonight? What do you think the chances are that the Americans will assault us?" 

Nagy replied, "There is always the possibility that their Vice President will be foolishly aggressive, or that he will be persuaded by someone who is. Someone could act on his own. Even a firearms accident by one of our men could provoke a spontaneous assault. Major Fahd has taken steps to ensure that his less experienced men do not cause this problem, but it happens among the best troops." Nagy shrugged. "But the Americans believe they have two days now. The time for hasty action was last night. They could launch a coordinated action tonight, but they could launch a more coordinated attack tomorrow night. All in all, we _should_ be safer tonight than last night or tomorrow night." 

Sultan turned away from the screen to face him. "We _should_ be safer, you say. But do you feel differently?" 

"I don't feel complacent." Nagy shrugged again. "I am _spetznaz._ My work is raiding, gathering tactical intelligence, ambushing. I know how to defend a position, but I don't like doing it. The defender has to be ready at all times. The attacker can pick his time." Nagy paused a moment, and allowed himself to smile. "And maybe my Gypsy blood is telling me something." 

Sultan said, "I thought you were raised without such superstitions." Then he turned back to the television. Nagy waited in silence, watching the screen because there was nothing more productive to do. 

Baiburs returned with two guards and the three women. They were bound again, with the cable ties Sultan had purchased in abundance on his prior visit. Sultan glanced at them and said, "Unbind them" in Arabic. Then he returned to the television. 

After Baiburs complied, he asked, "Do you want me to stay?" 

Sultan replied, without looking: "No. Return to your duties. Take your men." 

Baiburs and his men left, leaving the three women standing in a row. Sultan paid the women no attention for the moment. Nagy examined them silently. They were all in gowns, which were now richly stained, mostly with blood. Nagy knew blood when he saw it, and smelled it. They did not seem wounded, though, and he gathered it had belonged to their late patient. 

* * *

**8:24 pm EDT**

Delivering the demands had put Anne Kerkorian near the top of the American pyramid of power in midafternoon. After the Vice President actually arrived, it was clear her position had eroded. She and the Bureau had acted swiftly, and were to be commended. What can you do for us now? 

The answer was: not much, compared with what other agencies were offering. The Bureau could not really compete with the force options the military was offering the Vice President. The State Department offered assistance and advice on prying loose the prisoners to be exchanged. What the Bureau had to offer now was mostly the promise of further intelligence about the terrorists. But it couldn't offer any more _now . . ._

Anne Kerkorian had made her excuses and left the Pentagon, rather than simply stand by the Vice President inneffectually, hour on hour.

It was now that the Acting Director saw and regretted her oversight in not clearly establishing FBI control over the released hostages immediately. The French and Japanese parties had all repaired to their respective embassies (and, no doubt, intelligence officers). The minor members of the White House staff had accepted the Mayor's hospitality. Even Jean Lawrence had been allowed to leave the Hoover building, from where she had gone straight to the Vice President. All the Bureau had in even the most tenuous of grasps were Michiru and her guests, still at University Hospital. 

Ann Kerkorian called the the Special Agent in charge at the hospital. "Any new progress to report, Mr. Ruthen?"

Ruthen replied, "Not very much. We did get drawings of some of them, but they won't be much good for us. These guys ain't local talent. Joe Blow from Kokomo ain't gonna call in and say, 'Yeah, I know this guy.'"

"Joe Blow from Baghdad might, once we get them on CNN," the Acting Director retorted, "Mr. Ruthen, how did you keep Michiru and her friends from leaving?"

"We didn't," Ruthen replied. "I think they were waiting to see if Mrs. Chiba could leave."

"Ms. Chiba?" Kerkorian inquired using the honorific prescribed by current policy--something Ruthen hardly ever did.

"Mrs. Chiba is the one in the wheelchair, the one who was upstairs when the terrorists took over," said Special Agent Ruthen. "The docs gave her something that knocked her out pretty soon after she came in. She's awake now, though."

"Is she coherent?" Kerkorian remembered the interrogation report. 

"I don't know," replied Ruthen, "They won't let us see her." 

Anne Kerkorian asked, "Who are 'they?' Do you mean the medical staff?" 

"No, it's more like the other hostages," Ruthen replied, "They protect Mrs. Chiba like she was their queen bee." 

"They do, do they?" mused Kerkorian. The Acting Director thought for a moment or two. Ms. Chiba was the hostage in the position to see more than any of the others. Her interrogation had not been complete; she might know more. She was not that far away at University Hospital; it was two miles or so from the [Hoover2][3]. Finally Anne Kerkorian said, "Mr. Ruthen, maybe a woman's touch would help. I'm coming over." 

* * *

The man Nagy knew as Colonel Sultan deigned to look at the women again after a suitable wait. He noted that Nagy had not spoken to them, perhaps a good sign. They did not speak, a much better sign; Baiburs' conditioning was effective. 

Sultan recognized the Mizuno woman. She seemed the most composed. She did not stare at him, but she did not look away, either. She had deduced that he was the leader. The other two seemed of less importance. The one who had colored her hair blond might be the same as someone he had seen on television. But that might be the one in the wheelchair in healthier times, or someone else altogether. The third one had eschewed dyes or wigs and colored contact lenses: she had black hair and dark brown eyes. But she also was buxom, with generous hips, and a sharply-chiseled nose. She reminded him of some women he had known in Turkestan. Not her manner, though. She stared right back at him. 

Sultan said, "You, in the middle. Who are you?" 

"Dr. Han," she answered. 

Sultan said, "We allowed you to treat one of our men. He has died. Why?" 

Dr. Han replied, "I think primarily through blood loss. We stopped the major internal bleeding, but he had lost much blood already. Plasma was not enough to make up the difference. If you had sent him to a hospital, a blood transfusion might have saved him. Or at least he would have had a better chance." 

Sultan turned back to the television. After a few moments, without turning back, he said, "Dr. Mizuno, you seem to be of some reputation. Why was our man sick?" 

Dr. Mizuno said, "I have never treated a case like his. I remember nothing in medical literature quite like it." 

"You told Major Baiburs that it resembled ebola fever," said Sultan. "Dr. Han said something about 'radiation poisoning.' Those are alarming diagnoses." 

Dr. Mizuno said, "They were plausible diagnoses, given the symptoms. Since we don't have facilities for analyzing clinical specimens, or for detecting radioactivity, they remain plausible diagnoses. Whatever it was, it damaged several of his organs. The spleen and bladder were ruptured; there was generalized damage to his intestines. I suspect that the liver and pancreas may have also been affected, but I cannot be sure without an autopsy." 

Sultan said, "Major Baiburs thinks you may have chosen your diagnosis in order to alarm us, Dr. Mizuno. Colonel Nur, what do you think of this?" 

Nagy said, in Arabic, "My people have all been vaccinated against the African diseases." 

Nagy had forgotten that Mizuno could speak Arabic. Dr Mizuno said, "This could be a new strain, or a non-African disease. I have seen a strain of ebola cause damage that was something like this. Infections are not my specialty. I am a surgeon." 

Sultan said, "The rest of us must take our chances. We could ask for vaccines and drugs, but of course, we couldn't trust what the Americans give us. And I am afraid, Dr. Mizuno, that I cannot allow you to warn the people outside because many of my people are watching and listening to the media. I will not alarm them, since there is nothing I can do for them without compromising our mission. Colonel Nur?" 

"Yes, Commander?" 

"Take these women out onto the balcony." Sultan turned to the women. "You will remain on the balcony until someone orders you to leave. Do not speak again without permission. I will not tolerate any further attempt to undermine the morale of our force." 

* * *

Nagy guided the women to the balcony. The Yellow Room was empty, and so was the balcony it opened to on the southern end. That irritated Nagy; the balcony was a good place to check for infiltrators keeping close to the south wall, where the patrols and the roof pickets might conceivably miss them. He had asked Fahd to take care of it during the day. Probably he had ordered someone here . . . perhaps the man was just at the latrine, a forgiveable offense with the kind of material Fahd had brought. 

"Look out, please. We want your faces to be seen." Nagy took a last look around himself, and he remembered the last mother he had released, the one that had reminded him vaguely of his own mother, the one that had persuaded him to release the rest of the children. He said, "I released your children this afternoon." 

"We know," said the blond one. "The woman Major told us." 

"She told our guard she would kill him if he told Major Baiburs," said Dr. Mizuno. 

"I did not give you permission to speak," said Nagy. 

* * *

Nagy returned to find Sultan still watching television. Sultan said, "I know about the ebola rumors. Do you think I should be charitable and tell the Americans?" 

Nagy was uncertain how to play this. "You are making a joke, Commander?" 

Sultan said, "Not necessarily. We already have rumors of ebola. Why not give the Americans the same worries?" 

Nagy thought a moment, and replied, "If the Americans believe it, it gives them extra incentive to act against us quickly. Even if their government does not believe it, they could use it as an excuse to justify action. And if this gets on their media, Major Fahd's men are going to hear of it. It will confirm their fears." 

* * *

Ginger Han turned around and whispered, "There's nobody behind us. Why don't you guys take off?" 

Minako said, "They have men down on the grounds, and probably men watching from the roof. Plus, the television is probably showing us already." 

Ginger said, "Go inside and change. Then they won't know it's you." 

Ami said, "Mina-chan, do it, and take Gin-chan. I will stay." 

But then a man with a rifle entered the Yellow Room and headed straight for them. It was the man Major Fahd had assigned to the balcony. He yelled at them in Arabic, for he had no other language, and he made such a racket that not only Nagy but Sultan emerged to investigate. Sultan excortiated the man for leaving his post without permission. Then he said, "You will stay out there, with the women, until you are relieved." Then Sultan said a few words to Nagy, who left, and Sultan returned to the Monroe Room. 

Ginger Han understood none of this, for she had no Arabic. 

Then it was quiet for awhile. Nobody talked after the man made his initial speech. Ami did not translate it. The man walked back and forth around the balcony, slowly. He was an older man, with a lot of gray showing in his mustache and hair. After awhile, Ginger noticed that he always looked away when she looked at him, and that he gave them a wide berth when passing them. He did not seem very formidable, after seeing him for awhile, and certainly not like Baiburs' men. 

However, a man soon appeared in the Yellow Room who looked _very_ formidable. He stood outside the door to the room where they had talked with Colonel Nur and the man who seemed to be the overall leader. 

Outside, a beautiful day was ending. The sun cast longer and longer shadows across the South Lawn. The air was very clear. Ginger Han could see across the Potomac quite a few trucks with dishes, which meant that cameras were thick out there, no doubt with telephoto lenses. They could be capturing the last image of herself alive that Lily would ever see. 

She mused about her parents. She hadn't specified custody in her will. She hadn't really thought about it until now. Would they contest custody with Mamoru? They adored Lily; she was a bigger part of their lives than Ginger had ever been. What would be best for Lily? She was a _senshi_; no escaping that. But her parents might give Lily at least a few more years as just a girl . . . _No, she's too much like her dad. Like Kimi . . . _ Ginger Han shuddered. 

_Get hold of yourself, Ginny. These clowns know if they start killing hostages, so many guys with guns are going to come after them it will look like the Super Bowl. And what they _don't _know . . . _

* * *

[1.][4] _Spetznaz_ is Russian military jargon for special forces. They were the most elite troops in the former Soviet army. Some of them worked for the GRU, Soviet Military Intelligence. Nagy naturally refers to commandos from other countries as _spetznaz_. The incident in Munich in 1972 really happened. It was at the Olympics. [Back][4]

[2.][5] "The Hoover" is the J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI headquarters since the middle 1970's. I invented this slang phrase for it. Given Hoover's relentless and expensive pursuit of Martin Luther King and other people who didn't suit his politics and prejudices, there is a lot of sentiment for changing the name of the building, but it hasn't happened yet in our world or in Sailor Moon's. Interestingly, the White House is almost exactly halfway between FBI headquarters and the George Washington University Hospital, the real prototype for my fictional "University Hospital," both buildings being about a mile away from the Executive Mansion and close to Pennsylvania Avenue. [Back][5]

* * *

**A Year and Change**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

**Chapter 23: Intelligence**

**8:53 pm EDT **

ANNE KERKORIAN found Agent Ballin waiting for her a block from University Hospital. There were reporters nosing around the main entrance and cameras on the roof that could spot a government limousine. But there was an unobtrusive way to enter, as Ballin explained along the way. "The name reporters are all gone now, but there are plenty of second- and third-stringers. Especially freelancers, more and more now. Major Vierhofen tells me the Army is starting to clear the perimeter of any reporters without Press ID. I guess they are drifting over here because of Michiru. There's also a rumor His Honor might come back."

"What a wonderful prospect," the Acting Director muttered. Then Anne Kerkorian got to the business she came for. She asked, "Ms. Chiba, the one that was under sedation. Is she still here?"

"Yes, Director," answered Ballin. 

Kerkorian said, "Tell me again about Ms. Chiba. Isn't she the one who was shot years ago?"

"Yes," said Ballin, "And one of her daughters was assaulted in March."

"Tell me what else you know," ordered the Acting Director. "Anything, even what Mr. Tiggs said about her. Anything at all might help me get a handle on her. I don't recall you saying very much about her. I mean, about herself."

"There wasn't much else to say," said Agent Ballin. "Marty said she seemed to run the house, and that's about all he said about her. From the way her friends have been acting, I guess Marty was telling the truth. Her father is a fairly famous photographer. Her husband is a doctor, but he's just a resident now. She's 29 now. She's been married five years but she has daughters who are 10 and 14. The oldest girl told me her father was an American Marine and that he died before she was born. The others belong to Dr. Chiba, or are supposed to. Do you remember what I told you about Dr. Chiba, Director?"

"Yes, children by four mothers," said the Acting Director.

"Dr. Chiba is at the hospital," said Ballin. "He showed up just after two this afternoon. He's the only one I've got to talk with alone, without the Army and the CIA and the DC cops. But, of course, he wasn't a hostage."

"You talked to him alone?" said the Acting Director, halting. "What about? Did you ask him about Blue Note?" 

Ballin admitted that he had, and summarized the interview. "I think--"

The Acting Director cut off Ballin's opinion. "You shouldn't have done what you did. Ms. Chiba might be the best intelligence source we have now, and you have antagonized her husband unnecessarily."

"I'm sorry, Director," said Ballin, not sounding particularly apologetic.

"Blue Note is finished, Mr. Ballin," said Kerkorian. "The Bureau has moved on. See that you move with it. Now," she said, "Show me your way to get in without talking to fifty reporters."

* * *

**9:03 pm EDT**

Getting past the reporters was a little more involved than Anne Kerkorian anticipated. But after that hassle, and Ballin's flub in handling Ms. Chiba's family, some good luck came the Bureau's way. Special Agent Ruthen related the circumstances to her. "The detectives from the District got pulled to work a homicide couple of hours ago. The Major took off for his chow break before Mrs. Chiba came around, and he ain't back yet--you know, _somebody_ should tell him. I don't know what happened to the CIA guys, but they ain't around now."

"I don't think I will wait for them to return. Where is Ms. Chiba now, Mr. Ruthen?"

"She's in the last room on the left, there, just before the nurse's station."

The Acting Director went quickly to the room, entered alone, and said, "Excuse me, could I talk to Ms. Chiba?" 

"Who are you?" asked one of the women in the beds. Kerkorian did not recognize her. 

"My name is Anne Kerkorian. I am the Acting Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, at present." 

Michiru was in the room. She said something in Japanese to the woman in the other bed, and then bowed to Anne Kerkorian. "We have heard of you from the television reports. Katherine Warfield said she gave a package from the kidnappers to you. So you must have been the very first person to see their demands." 

"Yes," responded Kerkorian, mildly flattered. 

"I am Mrs. Chiba," said the third woman. She had blond-colored hair, and it looked surprisingly natural . . . and so did her blue eyes. Anne Kerkorian remembered, _This one must be the one Minako Jones was photographed with . . . Ballin didn't show that one at the briefing._ The briefing seemed a thousand years past, now. "_Come closer, please_," said Ms. Chiba. 

"Of course." Anne Kerkorian edged closer, meanwhile getting out her recorder and saying, "Anything you remember could be important. Now, why don't you . . ." 

The three women were all talking. Anne Kerkorian could not understand a word they were saying. Then Ms. Chiba said something sharply, and they were quiet. Ms. Chiba said, "Kerkorian-san, would you leave for a few minutes? I promise I will talk with you after."

The Acting Director nodded and left the room, momentarily glad to do so because of her lapse. What was that about? Maybe just fatigue. _This thing started before I got to sleep last night; maybe three hours sleep night before . . . _ Someone was brushing past her. It was Michiru.

Special Agent Ruthen asked, "Did you get anything from her?"

Anne Kerkorian looked at her recorder. None of the indicator lights worked. _Blast, what a time for the battery to run down,_ she thought. "I'm not sure," she said. "She said she would talk to me again. I don't suppose we have anyone here who can speak Japanese."

Ruthen led her away from the room as he talked. "The Major can speak some. If the CIA guys can, they ain't sayin'. None of _our_ guys, if that's what you mean."

Kerkorian and Ruthen moved out of the way of a clot of people. _What was going on now?_

When the group had passed, Ruthen murmured, "They're stirred up again."

The group all went into Ms. Chiba's room and more passed by for the same destination. Michiru was one of them. When the procession was past and inside the room, the Acting Director asked, "What do you mean, stirred up again?" She was careful to stand close to Ruthen, because other curious people were around now.

Ruthen murmured, "They all went inside when Ms. Chiba woke up. The man was her husband."

Anne Kerkorian thought a moment about the behavior of Michiru and her friends. _Why was Ms. Chiba so important to them? What was really going on?_ "Your little remark about the 'queen bee' seems to have been right on the mark." _And so was Ballin's info from Tiggs,_ she thought. Moving further away from prying ears, she continued. "What is your take on these people, Special Agent Ruthen?"

Ruthen shrugged. "They're Japanese. I can't read them too good. Can't be sure I can tell between what's strange because they're Japanese and what's just strange. One thing for sure, though."

"What?" asked Kerkorian.

Ruthen said, "They're all tougher than they look. They've come out of this better than the other hostages, even the other Japanese. To my old nose, they don't smell like civilians. They've all talked to cops before. I'd bet you even money some of these guys have seen some action." He leaned close and lowered his voice. "Ballin told me they all had connections with Blue Note."

"They all knew Jones," said the Acting Director. She paused a moment. Ruthen was going to retire as a mere Special Agent, but Kerkorian had more respect for his experienced opinion than that of most of her District Head, however much she wished he would learn the new Bureau etiquette. "Or they could have. Where is Agent Ballin?"

Ruthen reported Agent Ballin was talking to the Major somewhere out of sight. Kerkorian took the opportunity to have some more private words with Ruthen. First she shooed off an inquisitive Ramirez with instructions to keep an eye on the hostages, especially Ms. Chiba. Then she slipped into an elevator with no more than perfunctory words to the DC cop on watch there. Once the doors were closed and they were alone, she asked, "What do you think of Agent Ballin, Mr. Ruthen?"

"He's good with the new toys," said Ruthen. "And he can think on his feet. I'm not sure I'd want to break through any doors with him, but you can always get grunts like me to do that."

"He asked Dr. Chiba some questions about Blue Note. Did you know that?" asked Kerkorian.

The doors opened, and they stepped out and walked some distance before Ruthen answered. "Yeah, I know about it. Your bright boy made a mistake. But it was a good cop's mistake. Like I told you, some of these guys smell like they've seen action. The Doc is one of them. And that big one. Definitely the big one."

"You don't mean Descartes' wife?" _And Michiru's companion,_ the Acting Director added in her mind.

"No, I don't mean her, I mean the one with brown hair and the big chest," said Ruthen. "You know, I _did_ know who and what Michiru was before before this all started, Director. I just didn't know she was connected to Minako Aino."

The Acting Director noticed an implication, and halted their aimless walk. "Mr. Ruthen, you seem to remember Minako Jones better than any of the ones actually here. You even remember her maiden name. You wouldn't have your own agenda concerning that old operation, would you?" 

Ruthen shook his head. "No. This old dinosaur is too close to retirement to do any crusading. The reason I know Minako Aino by name is because I met her. It was, oh . . . four years back, first year of the last Administration. I was working out of the San Francisco office and Charlie Vincenti took over. I was already on his sh--_short_ list, so he stuck me in the scut jobs. One of them was surveillance. I spent, oh, eight, nine weeks staking out Marvell Jones' mother's place. Joint operation with DEA and the locals. It was a joke; she made us right off; she'd wave to us going by; she even made us pies. Marvell would drop by once or twice a week, but we never got anything from him."

"Anyway, this drop-dead-gorgeous woman was showing up every day. We thought she was a hooker, but it turned out she was the nurse-therapist for Kevin. Marvell's brother was living with his mama. He was in bed or in a wheelchair most of the time, but Minako Aino got him up and walking. Not _good, _but she got him to do it. The mother introduced us one day. And she spoke with us a bunch of other times before we packed it in." Ruthen shook his head. "Anyway, soon after that, Vincenti got me on the bicycle and I went to Texas. I didn't know she married the brother, or about her and Michiru and the rest of this bunch until today, Director. Except for the big one." 

The Acting Director said, "You knew her too?"

"Met her once. Aino brought her over. She gave us this huge basket of cookies." Ruthen nodded. "When I told her that, she told me that Aino was trying to fix her up. That did break some ice. She even told me I sort of reminded her of an old boyfriend. Forgot her name . . . Now she's one of the Mrs. U-somethings, but I can't keep them straight." Ruthen shook her head. "But I'm sure of this: Back then, and now, she'd rather not be around cops. And she's been around enough cops to know how we work and how we think."

Ruthen continued to ruminate. "Aino knew cops too. She knew cop talk and she'd use it. She'd notice little things, too, like a new antenna, or one of us changing from a 9mm to a 10mm. Too bad the Major can't ask her about what the terrorists are packing."

"Too bad indeed," murmured Kerkorian, her mind now on two things at once--three, if one counted the orderly approaching. "What's your take on Major Vierhofen?" 

"Kinda like Ballin in an army suit," said Ruthen. "Seems like a solid guy. And I guess we like army guys better than CIA guys or District cops."

"Some army guys," said Kerkorian. She switched to the other question that had been on her mind. "If you met Ms. Aino and her friend on official duty four years ago, why is this the first I've heard of it? We started the background checks in March."

"Nobody asked me about it," said Ruthen.

"That's not what I mean," said Kerkorian. "Ballin gave me a lot more material on Minako Jones than I used at the briefing. She almost went to the Olympics. She managed a pop group in Japan. She has a ticket for driving a tank without a license--in Switzerland. And much more. But he did not inform of me of this interesting little incident. You did report it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I reported it," said Ruthen "Everything. I even attached a cookie to one of the reports in case our crime lab wanted to analyze it." He shrugged. "Maybe someone threw my reports out, or decided they weren't worth putting into the computer."

"Maybe," said Kerkorian, "But that wasn't and isn't Bureau policy. Everything stays on file. Anything we can't or won't put on electronic media will be referenced on electronic media. If we start purging our files, someone is bound to say we're covering up something. We restrict access, but we don't throw anything out unless we get a legally binding order to do so. That's policy, and I believe it's the _right_ policy."

Ruthen waited for another hospital worker to pass by. "You won't hear me argue with you about that, Director."

* * *

**9:13 pm EDT**

Rei said, "We could still do it by ourselves. We have defeated _worlds_ before!"

Michiru said, "We could have defeated them at the beginning. The question was, at what cost? With what we know now, that question is of many times more importance."

Makoto said, "I'm with Rei. We have to take care of these guys. The longer we wait, the more chance they will kill one of the hostages to show how tough they are."

Haruka said, "There are soldiers and police all around the White House now. The enemy knows that. They know if they execute hostages, they will probably be attacked right away."

Setsuna shook her head and said, "They could kill hostages in some quieter way than shooting them. Also, they have made this new threat. If the American government believes them, they will not allow an attack, not unless the Vice President himself orders it."

"If that is true, we are the only ones who can save the hostages," Rei said. "We must act before the enemy kills someone."

Mamoru said, "We didn't have a plan we're sure would save all the hostages, even before--"

Rei cut him off. "They are _bluffing!_"

Michiru said, "You are so certain of that? Your opinion is so informed? Aino-san was the General, not you."

Rei said, "I don't have to be a general to figure this out! If they actually have the weapons, why would they bother to take a few hostages? _If_ they truly have the weapons, they have this _country_ as their hostage! The _world!_"

Setsuna said thoughtfully, "Hino-san's reasoning is sound. Our enemy has taken the greatest of risks to capture the White House and their hostages. It does not seem to me like something a good soldier would do if he did not have to. Princess, is their highest leader a soldier?"

Usagi said, "I did not read him very deeply. I saw some images of men dressed like soldiers, but none of them were fighting." She shook her head. "The only military man I ever really knew was Jimmy-chan. Fazi could be a general, for all I know. He sees himself in some fancy uniforms."

"It takes more than a uniform to make a soldier," said Haruka.

"So, Tenou-san agrees with me," said Rei. "They are bluffing."

Usagi shook her head, "Fazi is very sure of himself. He is a suspicious and careful man. Nagy-san has some fear of him. But Fazi was quite contented when I was close enough to hear his thoughts . . . " Usagi concentrated for a moment, and then said, "Nagy-san was quite worried, but Fazi was not. And Nagy-san had no memory of the sample. I read him much more deeply than any of the others. I could not have missed something that important, because it was only a few minutes since Katherine Warfield was sent out with their demands. Nagy-san knew that; I saw the package in his mind. But he did not know the sample was in the package . . . That makes no sense to me."

"A man who does not know a secret cannot betray it," said Haruka. "Nagy and his men made the attack on the White House. If they failed, he might have been captured. Remember, Fazi did not come in until later, when it was safe."

Michiru said, "Sweetest, that is true. But one wonders: Why did Fazi come at all? If he is the true leader, his cause could be lost with him. If he is not, why trust him with this greatest of secrets?"

Rei said, "That all leads back to my belief. If they really have the weapons, what they have done makes no sense."

* * *

**9:25 pm EDT**

Istvan Nagy looked out from the third floor of the White House, scanning from east, through south, to west. If the Americans made an assault, most likely they would make it from the west, because the bulk of the executive offices at the end of the West Wing offered the best cover. Of course, there was always a patrol there, but it was only three men, and only one of his men. There were no sensors to back them up. No, no sensors had been included in the van full of "special equipment."

Colonel Nagy switched off his nightvision goggles. The batteries would not last forever, and with one of the rechargers gone bad, batteries were getting to be a problem. The grounds' lighting was sufficient for the most part. The time the nightvision equipment would be vital would be when--and if--the Americans cut the power.

Nagy took another look with his bare eyeballs, taking in the beauty of the moment as well as the tactical situation. There was afterglow to the west; overhead, stars with a few tiny patches of cloud. The air was quiet; traffic sounds occasional and faint. That was a part of the curfew that helped his own force; the quiet streets would make it harder for the Americans to move in any large force unheard. Of course they did not need a really large force, but Nagy thought the Americans could not resist using one, if they decided to use force at all. 

* * *

**9:30 pm EDT**

The Acting Director found that at some time in their absence, Ms. Chiba had transferred to her wheelchair and moved to the lounge. "About five minutes ago," said Agent Ramirez, when asked.

The lounge was crowded, but quiet. Most of the occupants were children, many of them asleep in the chairs, on the couches, and on the carpet--the path that Ms. Chiba had taken was apparent, because it took up the greater portion of unoccupied area. Most of the ones awake were watching television. Not Ms. Chiba, though; she seemed to be looking out the windows on the eastern end of the lounge. The other adults were two elderly ladies, who clucked to each other in a language entirely strange to Anne Kerkorian as she passed them, and Ms. Chiba's husband, who rose from among a cluster of children to bar her way. "I want to speak with Ms. Chiba again."

Ms. Chiba responded without turning her head, softly, in Japanese, and exchanged some phrases in that language with her husband. He stepped aside. Kerkorian drew as close to Ms. Chiba as seemed correct and said, "Perhaps we should go someplace more private?" 

"Please do not talk loudly," said Ms. Chiba. "I don't want to wake up Kimi-chan." There was a child sprawled on the couch in front of Ms. Chiba, buried under a hospital blanket except for her hair, which was done up on the same unusual way as Ms. Chiba's.

"Of course," said Kerkorian said, lowering her voice still more. Anne Kerkorian made some small talk to ease the obvious tension. "You can't quite see the White House from this floor. From the roof, I know you can; that's why there are so many cameras up there now. The hospital got an easement from the height limitations for the District. The only taller building in town is the Washington Monument."

"That is interesting, Kerkorian-san," answered Ms. Chiba. "Do you think the Vice President believes in the _senshi?_"

"Believes in what?" Kerkorian asked, bewildered.

"Do you think he believes in the angel ladies? In the magic girls so many say they have seen? I think the last President believed in them, maybe."

"I don't know," said Kerkorian, honestly. "Why would you think of that?"

"The senshi--that is what some call them in Japan. The _senshi _are supposed to work miracles, are they not?" said Ms. Chiba. "Is this not a time when miracles are needed?"

"I suppose it is comforting to believe in angel women," said Kerkorian, "for some people."

"When I was a young girl in Japan," said Ms. Chiba, "I believed in them. I believed with my whole heart." She shook her head slightly. "But it is harder to believe in miracles now." 

"Harder for all of us," said Anne Kerkorian. 

Before the Acting Director could move on to a more pertinent question, Ms. Chiba said, "You know it is said that Aino-san's husband was saved by angel girls and a lady."

"Aino-san?" responded the Acting Director.

"You would call her Mrs. Minako Jones," said Ms. Chiba. "She is still in the White House. You know, it is also said that angel ladies burned Minako's husband so badly. He was burned on the same night I was shot, you know."

"Yes," responded Kerkorian, beginning to feel uneasy, "I'm afraid I do know that."

"Maybe the angel ladies make mistakes sometimes," said Ms. Chiba. "Terrible mistakes."

* * *

**A Year and Change**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

**Chapter 24: Renown**

**9:42 pm EDT**

"BESIDES THE PRESIDENT, the intruders are still holding these three women," said the interviewer. "What can you tell us about them, Katherine?"

Katherine Warfield could see in the monitor the image electronically replacing the blank green wall behind them. "I can't say I _know_ why they were separated from us, Barbara." Katherine Warfield played along with the phony intimacy the interviewer was displaying. "It is true that one of the men guarding us seemed very ill some time before they were taken away, but no one told us anything about that. I had never met Dr. Han or Dr. Mizuno before last night and I did not talk with either of them for very long, so I'm afraid I can't tell you much about them."

"What about the other woman, Katherine?" The interviewer was good; she had picked up the implication Warfield had given her, and taken advantage of the pause Warfield had made.

"I have met Minako Jones before, Barbara. That's her on the left. Most recently, I spoke with her when I last interviewed Michiru and Mr. Descartes. She is a friend of Michiru's, like many of the other guests. But I must say I was very surprised to see her turn up at the White House."

"Why?"

Kate Warfield said, "Minako Jones was married to the brother of Marvell Jones. Marvell Jones was suspected of being the leader of the biggest illegal drug operation in Northern California."

"Was suspected?"

Warfield said, "Neither of the Jones brothers is with us now. They were murdered last year, probably by rivals."

"Well, that is certainly surprising . . ."

* * *

**9:53 pm EDT**

"Yes, I spoke with Michiru. His Honor isn't the only one who appreciates music," quipped Anne Kerkorian to one of the reporters as she approached her limousine. There was no avoiding them now; with the curfew in place, she had to exit at the main entrance. Ballin had been right; no first-team people here, in fact, not a face she recognized. But she was almost past them.

Then a fresh face, a woman's, appeared. "Excuse me, one more question, Madame Director."

Anne Kerkorian halted and turned to face the questioner. "Yes?"

"It's just come out that one of the guests, Minako Jones, was married to a notorious criminal. How did she get through your Bureau's background check?"

The Acting Director silently thanked Ballin while she replied, "The Bureau was quite aware of Ms. Jones' background and we informed the President about it. Ms. Jones may have married a man with a criminal record, but she has none of her own." Kerkorian made her exit before anyone else could ask a question.

Once they were away from the hospital, the driver asked, "Did you get anything, Director?"

"Maybe a few names," the Acting Director said wearily.

"Do you want me to take you home now? Been a long day, Director."

The driver had a point. Anne Kerkorian hadn't actually slept since five the day before. The Vice President wasn't likely to authorize action tonight, no matter what General Thysson said. "Good idea, Barnes. Head for Georgetown."

* * *

**10:15 pm EDT**

The worst part of a round for Istvan Nagy was the second basement. It was Baiburs' lair, which was distasteful enough, but it also stank. Rather than let the prisoners use the toilets, Baiburs simply provided buckets in the holding rooms. By the second night, the stink was noticeable even in the first basement, where he had set up his command center. In the second, it was dreadful.

Much as Nagy would have liked to avoid it, the second basement had a weak point that had to be watched. There was a tunnel here leading to the West Wing and beyond. Since it was a possible route for desertion, Fahd had insisted on a three-man arrangement here, probably to save face; Sultan had agreed. So one of his precious men was always on watch in the fetid tunnel entrance. Nagy, and Horthy for that matter, never neglected this unfortunate man.

At this time, the unfortunate man was Fedorov, his youngest men. Fedorov wasn't quite as young as he looked, but still, he was seven years younger than the next youngest, Ramirez, and he'd never seen in action with Nagy. He had under Sergeiev, though, who was his uncle, and before that in the underpublicisized low level conflicts going on inside the Russian Federation.

One of the joys of the post was that it was close to the conference room that held most of the prisoners, and even closer to the toilet where their buckets were emptied. "Here comes the bucket boy again," baby-faced Fedorov remarked, holding his nose.

Federov looked to be right, because the bucket boy looked like a boy, so smooth-faced he made Fedorov look like an ancient. He was one of the prisoners, of course, evidently picked because he looked least likely to cause trouble. One of Baiburs' men was herding him, taking pains to push this gun barrel into the boy, admonishing the boy to hurry--in Arabic, which the boy was unlikely to understand, until they disappeared inside the toilet.

Nagy talked with Fedorov for a little while longer, letting Fedorov go on with a story about Sergeiev Nagy had never heard. When the boy emerged into the hall again, though, curiosity overwhelmed Nagy and he excused himself. He stopped the bucket boy and asked, "How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir," the bucket boy replied.

"Are you sure?" He looked no more than fifteen to Nagy, who had seen his share of boy soldiers.

The youth stood a little straighter, as he said, "I have a daughter, sir. Seventeen months old now."

"And another on the way," said Nagy without thinking.

"How do you know that?" asked the youth, straightening up all the way. 

Actually, Nagy did not know how he knew, or why he had said what he had. Before Nagy could say anything else, the bucket boy's minder suddenly learned English, saying, "We ask the questions, prisoner!" while administering his rifle barrel again.

"I did not give _you_ permission to speak, soldier," said Nagy. 

"I apologize, _sir,_" sneered the guard.

Fedorov, who had drifted up to finish his story, dropped the guard with a palm-thrust to his chin. "More respect for your officers, please," he said. Like his uncle, Fedorov was a born NCO, and lightning-fast when he chose to be.

Baiburs appeared, as he always seemed to appear, and the unruly guard was chastized--not for abusing a prisoner, of course, but for disrespect to an officer. The bucket boy disappeared into the holding room while this was going on. Fedorov returned to his post, his story unfinished, and Baiburs turned to leave. It was also time for Nagy to get to his own duties, but before he did, he stopped Baiburs and asked, "The bucket boy, who is he?"

Baiburs actually looked puzzled for an instant, something Nagy had not seen before. "His name is Shingo Tsukino. He is one of the Japanese." Baiburs may have thought a moment, or maybe not; Nagy suspected the man had a photographic memory. Baiburs added, "He has identification as a student of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. But he does not seem important. You released his woman and child. Did his woman tell you something?"

"She asked about him, they all asked about their men, except . . . wait, not just her, the one in the _wheelchair_ asked about him," said Nagy. "He's the brother of the one in the wheelchair. The one Commander Sargon had me release after the journalist."

Baiburs brightened. "Ah, that one. The Commander was pleased with her statement to the press. So this one may have some extra propaganda value. I will point it out to the Commander. Thank you, Colonel."

While Baiburs made his pleasant remarks, the most cordial words Nagy had heard from the man, on, one or perhaps more than one of his guards was administering enough "discipline" to draw out some racking sobs from the main holding room. Nagy couldn't tell if it was Tsukino. He did not stay to investigate.

* * *

**10:43 pm EDT**

Fazi ibn Sultan al Kaukji, the man known as Colonel Sultan to Nagy and his mercenaries, and as Commander Sargon to the world, looked over the woman for a moment, but not a long moment. He told Baiburs' man to leave. He thought he caught a change of expression on the man's face as he left, but let it pass. "You may sit," he said, indicating the chair by the bed. Fazi turned the sound back on the television and selected CNN, then went back to sixteen-subscreen mode. The woman went silently to the chair, never directly looking at him. She was wearing a domestic's uniform, obviously made for a woman of more girth, presumably the best that could be found to replace the filthy gown Fazi had seen her in earlier.

After scanning the news for awhile, letting the woman settle in, Fazi said, "You have been on the news. The first woman I released today remembered you, and I have seen more reports since."

The woman remained silent. 

Fazi said, "You may speak. Is it true? Your husband was a black drug gangster?"

"My husband was African-American," said the woman. "He did nothing wrong when I was with him. His brother was the leader of the gang."

Fazi asked, "What were they like? I have spent much time in America, but I have never known any black criminals. Yet one hears so much about them."

The woman answered, "Kevin, my husband, was a fighting man. I think he would have been a soldier or even a policeman if he had not been Marvell's brother. I did not know Marvell, the leader, very well. He did not allow anyone to know him well, not Kevin, not his wife, not even his mother. He did not seem much like the gangsters on the police shows. There are boys who act like that, but they do not last long."

Fazi's attention was divided between the television and the woman, but he did notice that the last phrase resonated with conviction. Presumably she was relaying the opinion of her dead husband or brother-in-law, and that lent it some weight, as much weight as Fazi would give to anything said by a woman. "How did you meet the gangsters?"

"My husband's mother hired me as his nurse-therapist. He had been badly burned, and it was difficult and painful for him to move. I tried to teach him to do as much as as he could do." The woman added after a few silent moments. "Perhaps Kevin-chan's mother thought of me as a wife for him all along. She was very happy to have grandchildren."

Fazi recalled something. "You had several children by the gangster . . . So the dark children who were with the mayor were yours?"

"I don't know anything about the mayor. Kevin-chan is the father of three of my children, and they have darker skins."

"Father of three," mused Fazi. "You have more?" The woman looked quite young.

"I also have a daughter of [eleven years1][2]."

Fazi wished he had asked Baiburs more about the woman. Of course, Baiburs would have omitted nothing really important, but Fazi knew that women were concerned with trivial matters, and knowing more trivia about the woman might make things go more pleasantly. Still, it was of small importance.

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the bed?" Fazi suggested.

* * *

**10:51 pm EDT**

Naru said, "I've put a geas on the doorway. Everyone should avoid this room. I think the spell will wear off soon with all those curious policemen here, though."

Luna said, "I don't think we will be able to keep up the mindlink very long. Mamoru, you _do _understand, once you we are linked, we will share Sailor Moon's pain as well as her thoughts. Be ready. Usagi, do you think you are ready?"

"Yes, Luna." Usagi transformed. She winced, but did not cry out; she had learned to accept the pain, for awhile, at least. She floated above her chair high enough to take the pressure off her back, and then said, "I'm ready to make the link."

Luna made the link, and immediately gasped with pain. Mamoru began to curl up, but straightened out. Sailor Moon reached out with her mind, taking Mamoru and Luna with her, darting through the thoughts of hundreds, perhaps thousands, seeking the signature of the man who thought of himself as Fazi. Mamoru was able to forget the pain for some moments because of the incredible novelty of the experience.

Presently there were Arabic thoughts, mostly, and Mamoru made them intelligible, mostly--colloquial Arabic had changed a lot since Saladin's time. Sailor Moon took longer to taste each mind now. Then, there were no more of them. Sailor Moon said, or perhaps thought, "I think it is too far, too many . . . I will try harder." The pain increased, but Arabic thoughts were heard once more--and then they weren't. Sailor Moon tried again, and again, and again. Finally she made a great effort. The pain was unbearable, and then--

Luna was slapping Mamoru, very hard. He grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I had to break the link! Look!"

Sailor Moon was floating above, almost touching the ceiling. The _ginzuishou_ had manifested, and it was glowing brightly. Sailor Moon's eyes were open, but they stared blankly at nothing.

"Usako! _Usako!" _cried Mamoru, but there was no response.

* * *

**10:57 pm EDT**

"Reports are coming in that many people in the District experienced sudden pain. Our lines are being overwhelmed by incoming calls, and--Dennis? Are you there?"

"Yes, Jan," said a disembodied voice. "As you can see--"

"I'm afraid we _can't_ see, Dennis. We don't have video feed from you."

"You don't? . . . I guess you don't. Ray dropped his camera when it happened. I'm telling you, I don't blame Ray. The pain was simply indescribable, Jan. It didn't last long, but it was simply indescribable."

"I see, Dennis. That was Dennis Kendall reporting from University Hospital. Whatever it was didn't affect us here in our studios in Laurel, Maryland, but Carl Bremmer in--"

* * *

[1.][4] Ishi is really only two months older than Kimi, but she just had a birthday. Ishtar's birthday is in June; Kimberly's is in August. [Back][4]

* * *

**Chapter 25: Repulse**

**White House  
10:53 pm EDT**

MAJOR HORTHY was taking a turn making a round of the duty posts. She was on the Third Floor, or rather outside it, in the walking area that surrounded the penthouse structure, partly concealed by extensions of the outer walls, almost unnoticeable in conventional views of the White House. It was the most pleasant part of a round, and the best sentry duty to catch, though of course the roof sentries would probably die first in any attack--there had to be 13mm rifles trained on them from every angle by now, which could cut through their Kevlar vests and helmets like butter. The weather reports said that Tropical Storm Barrett might come ashore here tomorrow night, but tonight, there were only a few patches of cloud, and the temperature was just cool enough to be pleasant. The curfew had cut the skyglow from businesses, so there were more stars visible than the last night. She lingered a bit longer than she needed to, asking for more impressions from Ramirez and Vietengoff.

So she was there when the pain hit.

* * *

Istvan Nagy was standing on a parquet floor, in a hussar's uniform. It was the same uniform, he now realized, he had seen in a picture-book the day he had started wanting to be a soldier. Music came from everywhere, and from nowhere. The floor stretched out into darkness. The sky was filled with crescent moons, of many colors, many sizes. 

Maria was nowhere in sight. There was no one in sight, except a girl in a sailor-cut school uniform. She had blond hair done up in two long ponytails with little buns where they joined her crown, and deep blue, almond eyes, not pinched but large and limpid. 

She was in a wheelchair.

The girl said, "Why do you do this thing, Nagy-san?" Her voice was small and sweet, yet it echoed.

Before he could answer, or think to answer, came the rumbling he had heard before.

* * *

When the pain was past, Major Horthy stood up straight. She saw that Vietengoff, taking his turn by the field phone while Ramirez walked the perimeter, had also doubled over. There was no blood she could feel.

"What Devil's work was that?" Vietengoff said in German.

Horthy heard firing, from somewhere below. It was very muffled. Then came some kind of detonation, perhaps closer, and more firing, definitely closer. She grabbed the field phone to call the command center. There was no answer. "Vietengoff! Keep trying to get through to Command!" She grabbed her radio. Forgetting to use a false name for once, she shouted, "Alert! Alert! This is Horthy! Alert! West Patrol, report!"

The West Patrol reported that they heard firing behind them. But of course, Horthy heard it even better, because the firing was much closer to her.

* * *

Ginger Han was still recovering from the pain when she saw their guard pull back the operating lever of his rifle. Ami had fallen over; she was helpless at this moment. Ginger lunged, butting the guard in the crotch with her head. She dematerialized her bonds, and was doing the same for Ami when the guard shot her in the back.

* * *

Usagi was in her uniform, her middle school uniform, the one she had worn the day she found out she was Sailor Moon. Her hands were smaller; the bosom beneath her brooch, almost non-existent. She was fourteen again.

And yet she was in her wheelchair, feeling nothing below her waist.

Nagy, the man who had led the takeover, was standing before her, dressed in an old-time uniform, with high boots, a huge curved sword hanging low in its scabbard, an elaborate jacket draped over one shoulder, dark hair hanging in braids. He was young, too. But he was still a soldier.

"Why have you done this thing?" Usagi asked. "Why did you do this thing for Fazi?"

Fazi came up, dressed in a magnificent modern uniform--except that his boots faded into nothingness before they reached the ground. He was a ghost. "Why do you care? It is done! You cannot stop me! My name will live forever!" The rest of Fazi faded away, even as she raised her wand to punish him . . . she was Sailor Moon, now, in her first winged form. But she was still in her wheelchair.

Ginger appeared. Her feet were on the floor, so she was not a ghost. She was dressed in jeans and boots and a bomber jacket, the clothes she had worn for the chilly night of Usagi's wedding, the night she had given Mamoru to her. "It looks kinda bad now, Bunny."

* * *

"Popov! What's happening?" shouted Horthy into the field phone.

"I don't know. The Colonel passed out. There was firing, and now there's some kind of fog here. Can't see. I just found the damned phone." There was a heavy rumble Horthy could hear both over the phone and through her own ears. "What was _that?_" Popov exclaimed.

There was more firing, and a scream loud enough to be heard through the concrete floors. More detonations, from further away but sounding stronger. Major Horthy made icy calculations. If the Americans were attacking, they would have picked off the roof sentries, or at least fired on them. But Ramirez had just reported by radio . . . It was some kind of internal conflict, perhaps between her people and Baiburs', or perhaps Baiburs' and Fahd's. There was only one hope of settling that, unfortunately: Sultan, and she did not have a secure connection through the field phones in the command center. Using the radio would inform the Americans, and they would jump in. "Popov, I heard more firing and some explosions."

"Yes, Major. It's from below, I think. Stopped now. I hear yelling. I think it's Baiburs."

"When the Colonel comes to, tell him I've gone to see Sultan. Do you--" Horthy was about to say "understand," but there was more firing. This was from outside, as was the banshee shriek which followed. _Artillery rocket? _A blood-curdling scream penetrated the silence which followed.

"_Madre de Dios!"_

It was Ramirez. He was on the south side.

* * *

Istvan Nagy turned back from the rumbling to see Sultan fade away, and then the woman arrived--one of the medical women, he remembered. Before he could speak, Federov, the baby face, and Beriev were before him. Beriev was holding his head in his hands.

"What happened?" asked Nagy.

Beriev's head spoke. "I fought an arcangel. She had a sword."

Federov said, "Fahd's man panicked, and started to run down the tunnel. I stopped Baiburs' man from shooting the wretch. One of the others shot me. I think it was the one with the bucket boy."

Beriev put his head back on and said, "We have made our final report, sir. We must go on now." Beriev and Federov faded away.

* * *

By the time Horthy reached the south side, there was no firing. Something was burning on the South Lawn. The South Patrol did not answer the radio, and it did not seem to be jammed.

Ramirez called out, "Is that you, Major?"

"Yes, Ramirez. Can't you see me?" The moonlight was bright.

"I can't see anything, Major. I think one of the things blinded me."

* * *

"Your Majesty, we all fought them, all of us," said Yuuichirou. "Every one." Yuuichirou was dressed as Musashi; Umino was in his homemade Tuxedo Kamen costume that had started to win Naru's heart; Ryo as the fearsome shadow warrior, but with human aspect; poor Kurume was in Lionheart mail but wielding a huge piece of chalk instead of a sword. None of them had feet.

Usagi was in the winged gown, the royal costume of the never-to-be realm. She said, "It isn't supposed to be this way!"

"It is the way it is," said Ryo, already fading away.

Usagi was blinded by her tears. Then a smaller voice came.

"I fought too, _okasan._"

She opened her eyes. It was Kimi Moon. Her feet were fading.

"No! _No!!_" cried Sailor Moon. She folded her black wings around Kimi Moon, to keep her from evaporating. "I will use the _ginzuishou!_ You must not go now!"

"You must not go now," said Tuxedo Kamen.

Tuxedo Kamen held out two roses. The blue one he handed to Kimi Moon, saying, "You must return now." Kimi Moon became blue and gold lights, which danced away. 

Tuxedo Kamen held out the white rose to Gin-chan, but she did not take it, saying, "No, it is meant for another." Then Gin-chan turned to Sailor Moon and said, "You must look after Lily. I don't think Mom and Pop can handle a _senshi._" She faded away.

Sailor Moon turned to Tuxedo Kamen. There were no feet visible under his cape. He was a ghost. He handed the white rose to her, saying, "You must keep this for the one who is to come."

"Don't go! I will use the _ginzuishou!_ It is better for me to go! Who will protect the Earth?"

"You will, Usako. You and the one who is to come."

"Stay. Please, don't go. You are my life."

"You were my life, Usako," said Tuxedo Kamen, starting to fade away. "It was a very good life you gave me." He was gone before the words were finished.

* * *

Major Horthy was not a woman without compassion, but she was a professional. She had left Ramerez to go downstairs and re-establish some sort of command. The first thing was to see Sultan, before Baiburs took over. But on the Second Floor, she found no one--no one alive.

* * *

Minako Jones was a woman of infinite compassion. Sailor Venus had that, but she also had within the ghost of the last General of the Moon Kingdom. Even as she held sobbing, orphaned Lily to her breast, even as her own tears fell as rain, she said to the President, "Fazi had a radio detonator he tried to use. It can't have had a very long range. The bomb must be near the White House. Or _in_ the White House. We are only a kilometer and a half away. We must get further away. I'm afraid we can't take everyone, Madame President, but we can take you. Even if the enemy in the White House does not detonate the bomb, there could easily be someone on the outside with a more powerful transmitter. Luna, is there any danger to Usagi from a teleport?"

"I don't know," said Luna.

"The enemy could detonate the bomb at any time now. We must risk it. Madame President, if you want to go with us, stand next to Usagi."

"Who is Usagi?"

"Stand next to the floating lady," said Adrienne, ushering Anne Marie and her grandmother into the circle.

Sailor Venus said, "Lily-chan, you are a _senshi_ now. Make mother and father in heaven proud." Then she commanded: "Chibis, _henshin yo!_ Teleport, _now!_" 

Then they were gone. A pile of clothes was left behind, which Major Vierhofen investigated before the two conscious FBI men. "Looks like the wad I lost to the redhead," he said, holding up some bills.

"This is the President's," said Ballin, holding up a gown. 

"They must have a load limit or something," speculated Vierhofen.

Ruthen started picking up things. "Let's get this cleared up before the DC cops come to. I'm pretty sure this is going to be classified information, Major."

"Yes," said Vierhofen, "I think that is a safe bet."

* * *

In the second basement, there were still bodies sprawled in the hallway. Baiburs shouted at his surviving men at bullhorn level, but when he turned to Major Horthy, he spoke calmly. "What happened outside? Upstairs?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Horthy, "One of the roof sentries was wounded. My man on the South Balcony was killed. So were Commander Sargon and his guards. Two men dead on the Ground Floor. I lost one man on the next floor the same way, and I'm afraid the guard you left with the medical women is also dead. The women are missing, all of them. The South Patrol is missing, but there is no activity to the south. North, East, and West Patrols are intact and reporting. There was no firing from the Americans on any side, I saw none in the building, and there is still no movement toward us we can see. Did they come through the tunnel?"

"They came through the tunnel, but they were not the Americans," said Baiburs. "They were _djinn_, like in the war. When I made it clear to them we would kill the rest of the prisoners before we surrendered, they went away."

"_Djinn?"_ said Fahd, who had trailed along with Horthy. "We are fighting the _djinn?_"

"They are formidable," said Baiburs, "But not invincible. Several were wounded. As long as we have prisoners, we are safe," said Baiburs. He repeated that, very loudly, so that all his men could hear. Then he said, "I am afraid some of my men assumed the attack was more serious than it was. Some of the prisoners have been expended. The _djinn_ were able to take the President and several others, I am afraid, but we still have the two Ambassadors, the two Ministers, and the American Secretary of State. We have--" Baiburs looked at his watch "--only twenty-eight hours and forty-four minutes at most until we leave. You will inform the negotiators that the further use of _djinn_ will be considered an attack requiring _immediate and full_ retaliation. Use that phrase. Insist that they publicise it immediately. There is always the chance the _djinn_ are independent of the Americans, but they obviously value the hostages. Do it now, Major. If you keep your head, you will come out of this alive and wealthy."

Horthy was ready to shoot Baiburs when he started his speech, but the bastard made sense, or as much sense as could be made of this thing. She saluted and went to the command center. Sergeiev had appeared, and briefed her on the details of the fight as they moved upstairs. "We came down after the fog cleared; heard the firing. It was like Baiburs said, they were women, even girls, except for one man in a cape. Baiburs was the only man standing, but he was holding them off, holding this boy with a gun to his head. He stopped them, and then he rallied his men. They backed off, and then suddenly, they were gone. Just vanished . . . Baiburs is a son-of-a-bitch, but he is no coward. One of them had a poleaxe at his throat. He brassed his way out of it."

"He doesn't seem to be shedding tears for his great comrade the little colonel," said Horthy.

"He is still a son-of-a-bitch, Major . . . we lost Grigor."

"Your nephew?" asked Horthy.

"Yes," said the laconic Siberian. "He was on tunnel watch . . . must have been hit first." Sergeiev expended no more words about his dead nephew.

* * *

The President found herself in a bedroom, nude. The floating lady was nude too. Two girls were there, also nude, one winged, the other still unconscious in her arms. The floating lady floated over the bed.

The winged girl was still crying as she began to pass the President. "Where are we?"

"We are home," said the small winged one. "My home. This is where . . . where Mamo-chan and _okasan_ slept. This is the room I was born in." She sobbed, and then seemed to pull herself up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Then she floated out the door with the smaller girl in her arms.

* * *

Sailor Venus was naked. At the first instant she thought she had de-transformed, but she still had her wings and so did Lily-chan. She took a moment to realize where she was, but not another moment why: Chibi Moon had seized control of the jump, probably unconsciously. _Lost our clothes, can't even manifest a costume, and scattered,_ Sailor Venus thought as a General. The teleport had barely succeeded, so they were utterly drained.

With poor Lily in her arms, and Isis and Achilles fastened to each leg like limpets, it was going to take awhile to rally the _senshi._ _Where were Ishi-chan and Afa-chan, for a start?_ The Minako part of Sailor Venus wanted to retch at the memory of her visit with Fazi, but that would have to wait.

**To be continued . . . **

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com
   [2]: #foot1
   [3]: #foot2
   [4]: #note1
   [5]: #note2



	8. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part 8**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 26: The Morning After**

**White House, Washington, DC  
Time: Unknown**

Roland Descartes had been fortunate enough to be put in with the journalists--his first conversation with Horthy and Nagy had earned him this privilige, for in explaining that he was a celebrity, they had convinced Fazi al Kaukji that Roland Descartes was one of the bigger prizes, one with extra propaganda value. What this meant for him and the three male members of the press who had been caught was that instead of being frequently beaten in a large lighted room, they were left neglected in a small dark room. Pitch dark; there were no windows, and they were forbidden to switch on the lights without permission, even if they could manage it with bound hands. Since they had been separated from the others, there had been no meals, only two offerings of water, and infrequent visits by the bucket boy. It had been a very long time since his last call, before the firing.

Being neglected, at least it was safe to talk, for the most part, although not loudly--there had been enough sudden intrusions by guards to drill caution into all four men. Still, no one at all had come in since a short time after the firing ended, when Baiburs himself had taken their measure--without answering any questions, of course.

Two of the journalists had clucked away with each other, endlessly speculating on exactly what had happened. They were rather appropriately named Poulet and Henns--Poulet had pointed out to Roland that while he knew the French way to pronounce his name was "Poo-lay," his family had always pronounced it "Pullet."

The third, Jack Crawford, had not said much at all. In fact, not so long after the firing stopped, the man stopped talking altogether. His occasional snoring announced in the dark that he was still among the living.

Sleep was beyond Roland's grasp, though he was desperately tired. Hunger, thirst, the need for the bucket boy's attention, worry about his family, and, yes, fear kept him awake. Descartes was no coward, but he did not have the coolness old Crawford apparently had. _A remarkable man or a complete fool,_ Roland thought. _Napoleon could sleep like this, they say . . . napping in the middle of a battle._ During the long night--if it was night, for he had not been able to read a clock or a watch since they had been brought to this place--Roland remembered that he had encountered Crawford before, when he had distracted the pig reporter Warfield from Titania. _Warfield . . . Odd that she would be here._ For a moment, Roland thought she might be connected with the takeover, but he decided that was too much, however much he loathed the woman.

After who-knew how long, and many false alarms as footsteps came close to the door, and then faded away again, came the sound of the latch. The door opened; unbound hands flipped the light switches. Words incomprehensible to Roland Descartes barked out. Squinting in the now-unbearable light with his dark-adapted eyes, Roland saw the welcome face of the bucket boy. He almost cried out with relief--almost. He also recognized the guard, who had an even harder look on his face. Poulet did speak out at some length. He seemed to have a shorter memory, but the guard refreshed it with his gun-butt.

With hands bound, Roland and the others were quite dependent on the bucket-boy, whoever he was. Perhaps he was someone Michiru had invited; perhaps a scion of one of the Japanese officials. He had never met him before tonight. There was no way to find out now, under the eyes and ears of the guard.

The time needed for everyone to have their turn with the bucket was just long enough for their eyes to adapt to the light. Then, as soon as the bucket boy was out the door, the lights went out again, and the door was locked. It had been possible to see _something_ in the room with dark-adapted eyes by the light through the tiny gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. Now there was only a dim thread of light in absolute darkness.

Poulet and Henns began clucking to each other long before Roland's eyes adjusted to the darkness again. Not hearing snoring, he decided to attempt conversation with Crawford. He did not start with subjects that really were uppermost in his mind, like what had happened to his children. He said, "Mr. Crawford, you were in the Middle East. Do you know what the guards are talking about? Now?" There was an conversation going on somewhere beyond their door.

"No," said Crawford. "I'm terrible with languages. I always use interpreters."

"I have several languages," said Roland, adding modestly, "Like many in Europe. But no Arabic. Though I recognize it. One hears it much in Paris these days."

"If you say, Mr. Descartes," said Crawford. "I've never been closer to Paris than De Gaulle Airport."

"A shocking lapse, Mr. Crawford! _No one_ should miss being in Paris if they have the means."

"Well, I'd say the same thing about San Francisco, Mr. Descartes . . . I think the women and children must be safe."

"How are you sure of that?" interjected Poulet, the more assertive of the cluckers.

"Oh, I don't know," said Crawford. "Maybe because we are still alive to ask the question."

That shut up the cluckers for awhile. After some quiet moments in the dark striving to believe old Crawford was correct about the women and children, Descartes asked another idle question to pass the time. "I wonder who the boy with the bucket is?"

Surprisingly, there was an immediate answer, from Crawford: "The boy is Mrs. Chiba's brother, Mr. Descartes. And the husband of the girl your wife and Michiru helped raise."

"Oh, _Shingo," _said Roland. "Yes, I know _of_ him, but I have never met him . . . until now."

"That boy's married already?" drawled Henns in an accent even Roland Descartes could recognize as Southern American.

"Yes," explained Descartes. "Some foolishness led to a baby. But he is not as young as he looks, I think, unless he is a prodigy. He has two years of university, I believe. That is why I have not met him. He was at university when I started my last tour. There was no time to . . . no time meet everyone before the performance. And no time after because of our _friends,_ as you style them, Mr. Crawford."

Fortunately Henns transported Roland away from thinking about their _friends _for awhile by starting the first of several yarns about early marriages, which were apparently a commonplace of his family history and the _milieu_ of his native region. Clucker Henns proved such a wonderful yarnspinner that he took Roland's mind far enough from care to slip into sleep at last, into a strange, strange dream . . .

* * *

**White House, Washington, DC  
Sunday, 7:00 am EDT**

It was a quiet Sunday morning in Washington, quieter than it had been in decades. The curfew would not lift for another hour. Looking down on the prospect of Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Capitol from the Third Floor, Major Maria Horthy could see only one vehicle moving--a car. It was undoubtedly a government car of some kind, but just a car, perhaps two kilometers away. Birdsong was the dominant sound. In this quiet moment, from this spot on the walkaround surrounding the artfully-concealed penthouse that held the rooms of the White House's Third Floor, it was just possible to believe that it had all been a bad dream . . .

It had not been quiet during the night. Since the firefight with whatever they were, there had been a lot of activity around the perimeter. The American press had not been muzzled; apparently their police and their army were searching the area. There were men missing, but it this seemed like a vast effort to catch their deserters, if they had deserted. Perhaps they were searching for Baiburs' confederates. Sultan and now Baiburs had instructed Nagy and herself to mention outside forces to the negotiators, perhaps to unsettle the Americans. But perhaps he did have people in the area. Even one dependable agent on the outside would be a great asset. Still, room-to-room searches seemed unlikely to Maria Horthy to turn up anyone who had been blending in all along. Of course, it was the kind of heavy-handed action she would expect of the Stassi, or the KGB, or many other flavors of political police she had known. But she had thought America too sophisticated for this. 

Two of the missing men were quite obviously not deserters. There were two blackened corpses on the South Lawn. There was no telling who they were; the clothes were burnt away, and their features, according to their replacements on the South Patrol. Something should be done with them, of course; one of them could be her man, and at least one of them wasn't Baiburs'. But with so many lost now, who could be spared for the task without leaving some place unguarded? _Maybe another prisoner working party . . . _ That meant approaching Baiburs, but that was unavoidable, anyway . . .

From within the third-floor walkaround, smoke marks from the fire in Sultan's bedroom were not visible, but Horthy could smell the effects as she walked above it. The fire had flared up after Horthy had first looked in the room, and provided some lively moments. The sprinkler system seemed to be offline, perhaps another legacy of Hacker John. It was a godsent chance for the Americans to launch another effort, but they did not. Good news for her team, but Horthy did not like it that a man like Baiburs had faced down the enemy.

From the west side of the roof, nothing appeared to have changed unless one looked closely at the grounds: there was a slight subsidence caused by the collapsed portion of the tunnel, blown in by the charges Hans had set. The effects were greater inside the West Wing; the floors were sagging over the collapse, and the West Patrol made its way to the two-story office structure at the west end across the lawns now.

Seven of her team lost--eight counting Nagy, who seemed to be in some kind of coma. _Stroke?_ Five dead, one missing, and Ramirez was blind. Baiburs had lost eight, five of them dead and a sixth still alive but he could not last much longer, one missing, one wounded in hands and arms from a chamber explosion and useless for combat now. There had been a few other weapons malfunctions, something that much surprised Sergeiev, who was their armorer. Galils were not fancy equipment, many of them being reworked Soviet or Chinese weapons captured in Israel's many wars, but they were rugged and quality control was excellent. When Sergeiev said he had inspected every piece, Horthy believed him. Even Baiburs' goons couldn't have mucked up so many pieces so quickly. _Sabotage?_ By who? If the Americans or another hostile power had infiltrated her group, they would have hardly let them get this far.

Maria stopped at the northwest corner to look up Pennsylvania Avenue. A few vehicles moving, none very urgently. No movement in Lafayette Park except a few birds.

Heading around to the stairs on the north side, nodding to Vietingoff, Horthy took another last look at the eastern skies. There was some cloud, but Hurricane Barrett--it had been upgraded during the night--was somewhere over the horizon on the unseen ocean.

* * *

**University Hospital  
Washington, DC  
7:25 am EDT**

Kaidou Yoko had broken into joyous tears when she heard that Goro was saved, but her husband never saw them. Kaidou Goro had not even the capability to dream Yoko could do such a thing now . . . Yoko seemed her all-too-familiar self when Kaidou-san woke up and saw her beside his hospital bed. Her first words were, "I thought Hino-san's daughter would still be here." 

"The women were all gone when they brought me to this ward," said Kaidou Goro smoothly enough. Being able to come up with quick, plausible responses in the most appalling situations was, after all, part of a diplomat's stock-in-trade. "How are you here? The curfew has not lifted yet."

"Don't be a fool, Goro. Of course they let _me_ through," said Yoko dismissively. Instead of telling Goro she had been beside his bed for most of the last six hours, Yoko returned to the subject of the woman Goro was obviously still obsessed with. "Hino-san's daughter was very badly beaten. I saw it. Perhaps they moved her to another hospital?"

"I do not know where Hino-san's daughter is," said Goro, perhaps a little forcefully. Then he said, "I do not know about Hino-san himself. He was not kept with us."

"Us?" asked Yoko. "Who do you mean? Husband, I do not know what happened to you. If the Americans really know, they have not informed the embassy, or the _baka_ we have left there haven't told me. There are wild stories that _bishoujo senshi_ rescued you. Even pictures on television, though they do not show much."

"The _bishoujo_ did save us," said Goro. "Some of us, at least . . . They brought us to this hospital, somehow . . . When I say 'us' I mean the prisoners I was with. Unimportant men, the enemy must have thought . . . They must not have known who your father is, Yoko."

"I did not tell them," replied Yoko. "That would have made me a prize for them. And you."

"A wise choice," said Kaidou Goro. 

"Real _bishoujo senshi,_" mused Yoko after Goro was silent for a long time. "If they are real, why did they not save everyone?"

"They can be hurt," said Goro, "And Baiburs threatened to kill everyone else . . .They killed Yamashita-san."

"I know that," said Yoko. "I also know that Kumada-san is dead. He was the husband of Hino-san's daughter."

"Yes," said Goro. "He fought the guards. He fought well."

"They are saying Yamashita-san fought well at the embassy," said Yoko. "I think they will make him into a hero."

Goro laughed bitterly. "Yamashita-san was the first they shot. Poor _baka! _He had no chance. The man who shot him, his gun blew up, but it still shot Yamashita. _Baka_ was right next to me. His brains were all over me . . . Kumada-san put up the best fight I saw, but they shot him down too. I think they shot one of their own men to do it, but they shot Kumada-san . . . many times, many times. They must have used up most of their bullets on him. When the _bishoujo_ finally came, they didn't shoot as much, I think . . . I don't know how long it was, the fight. Probably not long, but it seemed a long time . . . a long time"

"And did you fight, husband?"

"No."

"A wise choice," said Yoko, repeating Goros phrase pointedly, matching inflections precisely. 

_A perfect ear, _thought Kaidou Goro. _She could--she _would _have been a koto-master if that were allowed to a woman of her breeding . . . but koto is part of the floating world, at least in the mind of her father_, _something for _geisha, _not respectable enough for _his_ daughter . . ._

"I made no choice," said Kaidou Goro. "I just did nothing. Maybe I am a coward. Maybe not. I did not try to hide . . . I just did nothing. Nothing . . . Some of the men that fought, you would never have thought . . . some of the ones who tried to hide, who begged and cried and fouled themselves . . . you would have never thought they could do so, if I pointed them out . . . I would rather not, Yoko. I will admit what I did, or what I did not do, but--"

"_You_ are no fighter," snapped Yoko. "_Baka._ Have you told others about Kumada-san?"

"I told--"

"Who? Who did you tell?"

_I told her, weeping over Kumada-san. They brought out the corpses, some of them, and it was her, it was her, it _was her! . . . _It could be none other . . . _Kami-sama,_ she was one when I knew her, did old Hino-san know all along?_

_"Baka! Who did you tell?" _screeched Yoko, far beyond irritation, sounding like her father on the rare and terrible occasions his temper completely broke.

"I told one of the _bishoujo _that he fought well, but I did not say his name. I can say I meant Yamashita, even if the _bishoujo_ should say something in public . . . which she won't." _I must tell her . . . It is better for Yamashita to be the hero. There will be enough reporters after her as it is . . . Why is Yoko so upset? I said _bishoujo,_ not--_Gods, no, _did Rei tell her?_

Yoko regained her composure. "You told a _bishoujo_ . . . No doubt you looked her legs while you were bleeding almost to death." Yoko was revealing a truth amid her clever remark, but Goro missed it. "They all have such nice legs . . . but you told no one else?"

"No."

"Good. So Yamashita will be the hero. I should be sorry for Hino-san's daughter, but she will never know if you are right about your _bishoujo senshi_. . . Would you like it if I dressed as a _bishoujo senshi _for you sometime? Do you have your friends in the water trade do that for your mens' parties, husband? Maybe I could ask them where to find the best _fuku._"

* * *

**Director's Suite  
J Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
7:57 am EDT**

"What is it?" asked Anne Marie Kerkorian. "Who are you?" _Must have fallen asleep during . . . strange dream. Strange, dreams, strange strange dreams . . . the woman in the wheelchair, never met her . . . what could she mean?_ "Who are you? . . . Ruthen, who are these people? Why are you here?" She was on the day bed . . .

"I'm Ballin, Director," the Agent said gently.

She remembered Ballin now . . .

The third man was an Army man, a major, "Vierhofen" on the tag on his blouse, the black beret of Delta Force or a vet of the DF on his head. He said, "Do you have trouble remembering, Ma'am?" He sounded more like a shrink than a commando.

"I remember . . . " _I remember! The flurry of questions the _feeling_ like nothing else . . . the _flash!_ over her eyes for an instant, just as the recorder went _pop! _in her hand . . . talking in the lounge . . . and then she was in the dream, a real dream, and yet . . . _"I think I remember, now. I remember what you told me about the angels."

"_Bishoujo senshi,_" said Vierhofen. "Means something like 'pretty young girl soldiers.' That is what they call themselves, or what they let were called in Japan . . . The President said that there could be some memory trouble."

"Because of Ms. Chiba?" asked Kerkorian.

"Yes," said the Major.

"Where is the President, Major?"

"Can't say, Ma'am. She's in contact, but I can't say."

Ann Kerkorian took stock for a moment. "What are you doing here, now, Major? There's no one to interrogate."

"Debrief, Ma'am," said Vierhofen. "Suspects and prisoners are interrogated. Friendlies are debriefed."

"Well, no one to debrief. So what _are _you doing in my office, Major?"

"Why, _intelligence liaison,_ Ma'am," he said.

"Can you speak in plain words?" asked Kerkorian.

"In plain words, us four and the President are the only ones who know who the _bishoujo senshi_ really are."

"That we know of," said Ballin. "I found some things. There's material on them that's invisible unless you access from an Epsilon-level station like the one Director Halinan had installed in this office. Your office now, Director. I still can't read it, but I can read the cross-references. It's enough to tell me the Bureau investigated our friends a lot, right up to the week Halinan died."

"I didn't think to look . . . Halinan must have known, and he didn't tell me . . . he didn't tell the President!"

The Major said. "You know, we _don't_ know that yet . . . speaking plainly "

"We don't?" asked Ballin.

"All we really know is that our new friends rescued the President," said Vierhofen. "We don't know she didn't know about them . . . and from what you just said . . . isn't it strange they would all be invited to the White House? Maybe the President wanted to make a deal with them."

Kerkorian was sufficiently paranoid now to believe that--for the split second it took old Ruthen to draw breath and say, "Bullshit."

"Bullshit?" said the Major.

"Bullshit. I don't know beans about our current Chief Exectutive, but I knew Halinan from the day he reported to Quantico. He was a lawyer first, and he thought like one. He wouldn't lay something like this on the President unless he had enough evidence to choke a whale. You guessed right about the all ladies coming, but my guess is that it was Halinan's idea. His wife was pretty thick with the Chief of Protocol, you know."

"Yes, I do know that," said the Acting Director pointedly. "Major, you still haven't said why you are here, in plain words."

"To keep an eye on you," said the Major. "The Joint Chiefs don't want you to make some kind of exclusive deal with the _senshi_. For the Bureau, of course. They could pick anyone to watch you, but I already know the big secrets; another grunt could find it out minding you. And if we get anyone to debrief after the firefight last night? You'll want to debrief them yourself, Ma'am, so I won't be out of place."

Pausing long enough to make a coda, the Major said, "And soon our place will be back at the Pentagon. That's why we came to wake you up, Ma'am."

* * *

**Kensington, California  
Morning**

Kimberly Chiba opened her eyes, squinting. The sun was above the hill now, pouring its light through the nearest window into her eyes. She was in bed, in her own bed. It felt strange--she had no clothes on. Looking around, Kimi saw Sarah on her bed, but not really in it; her sister's arm showed she was wearing a sweatshirt. Someone had folded up Sarah's quilts over her like she was the filling in an _enchilada_. An ankle showed. Sarah was wearing her jeans, too. _Sarah must have fell asleep without wanting too. She _never_ wears her jeans in bed no matter how beat she is . . . _

_It was all a dream,_ Kimi thought. She didn't have as many bad dreams as Sarah, or Ishi, or the ones that Zoë still wouldn't really explain, at least to Kimi. But she had bad dreams sometimes, especially about the man she had fought to save Mika . . . that seemed so long ago, now. Kimi reached down to her leg, to rub it a little before she put some weight on it, but . . . it felt okay, now, mostly . . . better than it had since her fight . . . _It must have been a bad dream . . . Where's my cane?_ she asked herself. _Must have fallen down, Sarah wouldn't move it._

Kimi sat up and put her legs out over the edge of her bed, but held the covers around herself--she was beyond the shameless state of childhood now and did not like to be naked, even in front of Sarah, even more than Sarah, who was a little more Japanese in some of her ways . . . _Sarah yelled at me for using my Eye in the restroom when we saved Uncle Marvell, but here she uses the toilet when I'm in the shower . . . ditches gym because she doesn't want to take showers with strangers, but she'll go to the shower without a robe here sometimes when we don't have strangers staying over . . . sleeps in her undies a lot now, even naked sometimes, but that's not me . . . Not even my undies . . . Where's my cane? Maybe someone kicked it under the bed? By accident?_

Kimi tried to use her magic eye, but couldn't. That happened sometimes, since the fight with the man who'd taken Mika, especially when she was really tired, and she was really tired now. Bad dreams stole the good from sleep sometimes. _Why doesn't Pegasus protect us from bad dreams? _thought Kimi. _I wish he was more than a story that_ okasan _and Sarah and Auntie Junjun and her sisters like to tell . . ._ Kimi tried not to be scared of the dream and of losing her Eye for now, and listened . . . _People in _okasan's_ room now, talking . . . Auntie Minako and Auntie Luna and Auntie Naru, but what are they saying? . . . I wish I could hear like Neri-chan . . . sometimes . . . Ikuko-chan is crying . . . That must be why _okasan_ isn't talking, she must be with Ikuko-chan . . . But why are the others still in her room? Is _otousan _home?_ Kimi really wanted her father to be home because of what happened in the dream . . .

* * *

**Kensington, California**  
**9:07 am PDT**

The President of the United States stood silent in a room, in borrowed clothes, looking at a floating woman, a floating jewel, listening to the talk but unable to speak . . . _It had not been a dream._ Angels had come for her and taken her away from the terrorists . . . away to this very real place. 

The woman was dressed again in black, and now she was holding a very white rose . . . the jewel was never the same, sometimes like a flower, sometimes a faceted globe, sometimes a spiky thing, sometimes an octahedron . . . and countless other variations. Once it had made a nest at the base of the woman's throat, but now it was floating fee again . . . _How long have I been watching her now?_

The President became more aware of the conversation. It was in Japanese . . . _Maybe _"Excuse me, what are you talking about?"

The blond angel started to say something, but the red-haired woman made a fast gesture and then said in slightly accented English, "We were talking about helping Sailor Moon. I am afraid we cannot tell you exactly how, but it is not your affair. You can't help us with her problem--"

The blond angel found her voice. "There is no need to be rude, Naru-chan. There is a person we call the Grey Lady who may be able to help Sailor Moon, and perhaps help us against the enemy. It is difficult to reach her. Umino-san is right when she says you cannot help. But you do care about our friend."

"She's the one in the wheelchair!" exclaimed the President. "I remember--"

"Looking through her eyes," said Umino Naru, who had mastered the prerequisites for her first mindreading spell since the night Venus-sama had taken a husband. "When Usagi reads more than the present thoughts of someone, things like this can happen--more and more, lately. Her power has grown. She cannot always control it. That is part of what happened, is it not, Luna-sensei?"

"Yes," said the most mature-seeming woman, though there were no physical signs of age the President could be sure of. "That is part of it. Forgive Umino-san and myself, if we cannot tell you everything, but there are secrets of our circle we may not reveal without permission . . . and frankly, without charge. Your government has dealt with us in the past, even if you know nothing of it, Madame President. But I can tell you that . . . "

* * *

Kimi could wake up Sarah to get her cane, of course, but she did not like Sarah to do _everything_ for her, and, anyway, Sarah looked kind of frazzled. It wasn't like her to sleep in her clothes. _Maybe she was out late on a date? Or with Val and the others? But in those clothes?_ _Maybe babysitting . . . but she never wears old things like that when she goes babysitting . . . Why can't I remember?_ Maybe _okasan_ had given her the forgetting powder . . . Ishi had taken it once, Sarah a couple of times, when the dreams got really bad . . . _Pegasus, why can't you be real? . . . But why do I remember the dream?_ The forgetting powder did not work very well on _senshi_, usually . . . _It could mess up your powers, maybe that's why I can't use my Eye now . . . A mission! That must be what happened! A sudden mission and I saw something so awful _okasan _or _otousan_ gave me the forgetting powder!_

It _had_ to be that. The dream of the men with the mean men with guns and the bad things they did, and the fight, and being with her mother and father in the strange place with one of the leaders of the mean men dressed up like a soldier from olden times . . . it _had_ to be a dream, a mixed-up dream maybe the forgetting powder had something to do with . . .

Kimberly Chiba shut out other possibilities. _Okasan_ could use help with Ikuko-chan, or with Julie-chan because Ikuko-san was so much to handle when she was having one of her crying spells . . . and was that Lily-chan crying? _It was . . . Lily-chan crying . . . She's not a cryer . . . She cried even less than Julie-chan when she was tiny, and now . . . That_ had to be tended to, if no one else could do it now, and that _must_ be it because no one would let sweet little Lily suffer alone if they might help, not even Sarah when she was at her wit's end to get some privacy from Lily, the "Fifth Asatara," as she had appointed herself when the four Asatara had last visited . . . _And that is Parapara I hear, and Auntie Junjun and Auntie Seresere . . . are they still here? I dreamed all that?_

Kimi could either wake up her sister, or find her cane herself. Lily-chan was crying and Ikuko-chan too. Who knew how long it would take to wake Sarah? Grandma said that Sarah was even worse than _okasan_ to wake up sometimes . . . Kimi needed to do something _now._ She steeled herself, and eased off the bed, letting go of the covers. Modesty would have to be risked; the covers were pretty heavy with the four quilts _okasan_ had made for her, more than she wanted to trust to her damaged leg.

Fortunately her bed was lower than _okasan's_, which had to be high so she could slip on and off into her wheelchair by herself. Sarah had the bed _okasan _had used in Japan, a big box with drawers and a recessed top that kept the _futon_ in place. But Kimi had a western-style bed with a mattress and springs and space underneath; not much space, but just enough for her cane to get lost in. _Okasan _had bought it used from someone for little money. While the little man who owned the house could and would provide anything they really needed, and some of her aunties and uncles were quite wealthy now and always willing to give, _otousan_ did not like to take too much from them, and _otousan_ was far from wealthy, so _okasan_ was pretty careful with _otousan's _money, always looking for bargains and mending clothes and . . . _I hope _otousan_ is home today . . . Where's my cane? It's _not_ under the bed . . ._

Kimi stood up and began looking . . . and then stopped. She was walking . . . her right leg was a little sore, a little stiff, a little hard to control, but it wasn't _weak, and . . ._

Kimi covered the most private parts of herself with her hands; someone had come in. It was . . . "Auntie Carmen?" Auntie Carmen's eyes were red and puffy. Her mother and father's old friend, and of course Auntie Gin's . . . she stood speechless for a moment, and then she covered her mouth, and then she rushed to Kimi and knelt down and took Kimi into her arms.

"You're all right . . . Thank God _you're_ all right . . . " sobbed Auntie Carmen. Kimi had never seen Auntie Carmen cry . . . And Sarah woke up, and came over, and she was crying . . . and Auntie Olivia, and Auntie Minako, who was Venus now but was still crying only not out loud . . . and . . . and . . .

"_Otousan!_" cried out Kimi. "What happened to _otousan?!_"

Mama Venus, for she was somehow even more like _okasan_ when she was this way, knelt down and took Kimi's cheeks in her hands. "Mamo-chan is with the _kami_ now, Kimi-chan. There was no other way to keep you with us. You must be a brave soldier now, Kimi Moon. The enemies have a terrible weapon, and we need you to keep them from using it." 

* * *

The President watched the scene in the girls' room, feeling like a voyeur, and yet compelled to keep looking and listening. Finally Sailor Venus--_Sailor Venus,_ yesterday a cartoon her nieces loved, today . . . finally Sailor Venus emerged from the now-crowded room and began to speak. "We will need an expert with nuclear weapons, Madame President. Maybe one with regular bombs, too. Usagi was sure that Fazi was very smart about some things and very careful. I think his bomb may have traps to keep someone from disarming it. Surely it would if he wanted to get away . . . yes, an expert with such things, too. Kimi can lend her eye to the experts . . . but it may be hard for them to use it. Luna-sensei, could you link me with Kimi and one or two others? I can spot the bomb, I think, and maybe I can help them use her eye . . . "

Sailor Venus continued to weep as she said all that . . .

* * *

**Kensington, California.  
11:38 pm PDT**

Their best chances required Kimberly Chiba's Eye. Really, the only chance, so there was no point in sending the senshi without Kimi Moon, Sailor Venus had explained to the President. Now Kimi had recovered enough control to transform, so Venus had gathered her mission team in the operations room. But there was a problem now . . .

"No, I will _punish_ them!" screamed Lily Chiba. It was impossible to restrain her; she was in her chibi _senshi_ form and phased out instantly when anyone grabbed her--and she seemed _faster_ now. "You have to let me come! I have to punish them for mama and papa!"

Ishtar was about to say the words, but she could feel so much of Lily's pain, and that piled on top of her own, that she could say nothing. Instead, Deja spoke.

"Venus-sama has ordered that even I must stay, Lily-chan."

"And I," said Pleione. 

"And I," said Maia, "And we can fight."

"They can't hurt me if I don't let them!" said Lily.

"We're not sure of that," said Zoë, who had a similar power. "Bullets come faster than you can think, Lily. They didn't hit me this time, but they didn't shoot much, and I really didn't fight much." She knelt and sat on her legs very much like Makoto, her adopted mother, as if she were such an outsized person, though she was, in fact, only a little taller than an average almost-sixteen American girl. Zoë opened her arms in invitation. "Come, Lily-chan," she said in Japanese, for if she would never lose her American accent, she spoke it more often than even Deja. "Do you not think I want to punish these men for Papa Ryo? But Venus-sama orders us to stay, and we must obey."

Seresere said, "This is so, Lily-chan. The Fifth Asatara must stay behind, to help guard the Third and Fourth Moons and the other babies."

"Yes, Lily," said Sarah, in English. "I am still the High Princess of the Asatara. I order my Fifth Asatara to stay here in reserve."

That almost calmed her, but then Zoë made the mistake of moving toward Lily; she phased out of Zoë's grasp and flew up, and now Naru could not throw the sleep spell she had been building--it took a powerful one to put out an excited _senshi, _and time to prepare it, and now it was wasted. Lily would fall, if Naru managed to hit her with the spell.

"I will punish them! I must punish them!" shouted the child senshi. "You must let me go back with you! _Please!_ Auntie Venus, _please!_"

"_Iie_, Lily-chan,"said Sailor Venus, choosing Japanese. "As the General, I order you to stay and guard here. Your High Princess has ordered the Fifth Asatara to stay. We will not leave until you return to your duties here. Artemis-sensei is your commanding officer, Fifth Asatara. Obey him while we are gone. Now, come down, and stand with the reserves like Ishi-chan. Stand aside, so that we may go. The longer you keep us waiting, the more chance the enemy will use his weapon before we find it. They will kill many people if they do that. You were a brave soldier, hiding your powers so the evil men did not know of us until it was too late for them. Will you be a good soldier now? Mother and father in heaven are watching you, Lily-chan. Will the Fifth Asatara follow her orders?"

Lily obeyed at last, and as soon as she was among the other chibi senshi who were staying, she was never out of loving arms for long.

Then Sailor Venus gathered her army around the President, Luna, and Naru, and they teleported out. Just before they did, someone said, "I will punish them for you, Lily-chan."

It was not quick-tempered Chibi Moon who said that. It was gentle Kimi Moon. 

* * *

**To Be Continued . . .**

* * *

**Notes**

"Stassi" stood for _Staatzpoleizei,_ I believe, the thankfully-extinct apparatus that helped keep the unwanted Communist regime in power in East Germany for so long.

As I understand it, the "floating world" is the world of entertainment in Japan, including its seamier aspects. The "water trade" is a related euphemism. There's a book called "Pictures From the Water Trade" which will explain it to you _mature_ readers. It should be in any reasonably large public library, but it will raise parental eyebrows.

Black berets as exclusive uniform for the Delta Force are really an invention of mine, but it seems a reasonable one. The real DF is a multiservice force created after the failure of the infamous hostage rescue mission in Iran in 1979. There is a wonderfully cheesy movie celebrating the Delta Force with Chuck Norris and the late, great Lee Marvin. It also has Shelley Winters _and_ Lainie Kazan for that full Yentascope experience.

* * *

Send comments to: [sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: sewell_thomas@hotmail.com



	9. Default Chapter Title

**A Year and Change - Part 9**

A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell ([sewell_thomas@hotmail.com][1]) 

_...... Thought quotation_

* * *

**Chapter 27: The Bomb**

* * *

A table had appeared, and a pretty young waitress with red hair and green eyes. She spoke in a language Nagy did not understand--_Japanese? _And yet he _did_ understand . . .

"Who is your friend, Usagi-kun? Did he come from a costume ball?"

"He is a soldier, Furuhata-san. A soldier from far away." The woman was a girl again, in the sailor-cut school uniform.

"He is so handsome. Mamoru will be jealous, Usagi-kun. Shame on you!" The giggling waitress set down colored fountain drinks of some kind, and vanished.

The girl in the wheelchair began to cry again.

* * *

**Kensington, CA  
12:28 pm PDT**

Natividad Carnera looked into the room with the floating angel, where a red-haired woman in gray robes chanted in an unknown tongue, and made strange gestures, and wielded strange fetishes, while two other women next to her spoke another language to each other that Natividad did not understand. One of the older children came up and said something in English, a language she did understand, although she didn't understand all the words of: "Grandma, Taggy's locked herself in the can again. You wanna see if you can talk her out?"

Natividad left herself to check on Luis, who hadn't said or done much of anything since they had come here. That brought her back to the woman who had left with the child. She was taller and better looking than the woman in the gray robes, though she was older, but there was a resemblence--and a quite striking one with the slang-speaking child, who looked about the same age as Titania. The grandmother was trying to talk the child out of the bathroom, which happened to be the only one that Luis knew of, so he was also waiting outside.

Natividad led her husband to another bathroom. When she returned, the woman in the robes was talking through the door, again in a language Natividad did not understand, but then in English as well. The child on the other side of the door emerged, and that crisis ended.

Natividad approached the grandmother and asked, "Could you tell me what is really going on here? I don't understand. You must have known their secrets for many years . . . I am Natividad Carnera. And you?"

"Osaka Nagako--Nagako is my personal name. You are Adrienne's grandmother?"

"Yes."

"You have a wonderful grandchild. My granddaughter Maia tells me much of her. They are the same age. And they both enjoy art."

"Maia, yes, I remember. Adrienne wrote of her. I'm afraid I don't know exactly who she is yet . . . But she is one of the angels too? I saw a red-haired girl of Adrienne's age with wings." Natividad glanced down the walkaround. "And I saw her, too, the one who came to you."

"Alcyone," the woman carefully pronounced. "Arukiionu in Japanese, but we call her Ara-chan, and she calls herself 'Al.' She is very American, that one." The woman sighed. "I have only my Naru-chan, but she has nine children. So I have eight granddaughters and one grandson. With the children of the _senshi_ here, there is quite a crowd."

"_Senshi?_"

"_Bishoujo senshi,_" said the woman. "That is what they are called in Japan. 'Pretty young girl soldiers.' They are not so young now, but they are still called that . . . and they really are soldiers. They fought great battles, I am told. I knew none of it until years later." She shook her head. "Naru-chan can work magic, but she did not learn until after the great battles. She is not a _bishoujo senshi,_ but all of her children are or will be. Even the boy, although I suppose he will not be _bishoujo--_though that can happen, too."

"I don't really understand . . . Can you tell me what is going on right now?"

"I don't know all of it. But what I do know is that Chiba-san is in grave trouble. She is the leader of the _bishoujo senshi_ and my daughter's oldest friend. The other grown _senshi_ are in Washington. I don't know what they can do there, since the terrorists have threatened to kill the rest of the hostages and set off their bomb if the _senshi_ attack again. But if there is more fighting, they will be in it. I think I can guarantee that."

"More fighting means that Roland will be killed," said Natividad Carnera. "And maybe Haruka and Michiru? I saw that some of them were wounded. One of them looked crippled. The one that wept so long."

"Yes," said the woman. "They can be harmed. Even killed. Especially if the terrorists really do have a bomb. Minako said so, and she is very smart about such things--you wouldn't imagine, but she is, even when she isn't in her _senshi_ form . . . the friends of my grandchildren, they could all be orphans like poor Lily-chan before this is over." She glanced around. "Don't speak of this in front of the children, please?"

Natividad Carnera sighed. "I hope Roland had the good sense to update his will. We are supposed to get the children, but . . . who would get the children of Haruka and Michiru if . . ."

The woman shook her head slowly as she spoke. "Haruka is estranged from her family, but they are very important in Japan. Haruka had a brother, much older, but he died and then his son died, so Titania and Hecate would be the heirs . . . Michiru's parents are a mystery, even to me. Someone sponsored her when she was growing up in Japan, but she doesn't know or won't say who." 

* * *

Finished with her crying at last, the girl said once more, "Why did you do this thing, Nagy-san?" She was in a different uniform now, and closer to being a woman. "_Why did you do this thing for Fazi?_"

This time the words somehow compelled Nagy to answer. "He offered us more money than for any other job. And this was a chance to do something that mattered. The United States has lorded it over the rest of us for too long. It was time to give this country a slap in the face. You are Japanese. You must understand."

"I have made myself an American," said the woman. "But I do understand. Why did you trust Fazi so much?"

"He was our employer. As Kipling wrote, a mercenary soldier must be true to his salt. We have worked for worse men."

"Why did Fazi not tell you of the threats he was making? Why did he not tell you of the plutonium sample to make my government believe those threats?"

Nagy replied, "I don't know. Sultan was a very secretive man."

"He was very sure of himself, like his job was already finished, only a little while after your people got him inside the White House," the young woman said, "Fazi asked that our government keep his threats secret. I think maybe he wanted to keep that a secret from you and your people, too. Why would he want to do that? Could it have something to do with that 'special equipment' he would never tell you about?"

"The special 'equipment'--" _The "special equipment._

* * *

**Building E  
New Executive Compound  
Washington, DC**  
**3:57 pm EDT**  


"Ingenious design," said nuclear weapons specialist admiringly, "And quite bad news for us, I am afraid."

"How bad?" asked General Thysson.

"It should have a yield of five to ten megatons. Enough to destroy the entire District--and the Pentagon as well. Seems to be based on a late Soviet design that was never put into series production . . . Kurchatov's work."

"And booby-trapped six ways from Sunday," said Captain Neuhaus, head of the NYPD Bomb Squad and considered the best in the country. "And that's just what I think I _can_ see. It's got motion sensors, at least two capacitance triggers . . . most of the wires could be triggers, too, there's way too many . . . wish I'd had you last week, little lady . . . "

"Can you disarm it?" asked Colonel Gage, the Delta Force commander.

"Maybe. I wouldn't bet your life on it. If we try to move it, it will probably go off. If a grenade or something goes off near it, it will go off. If someone kicks it, hits it, something falls on it, it will go off . . . and it has timers. Some of them are probably lures, but I bet at least two of them are active . . . Hey, what's happening?"

"She can't go on," snapped the strawberry blond Death Angel, catching the lolling girl, and six-eight Thysson backed away from the diminutive Destroyer before he thought.

The woman who had been making the "link" said, "This can be very draining for someone not accustomed to it. The Second Moon has never linked before."

"I believe you, Ma'am," said Neuhaus, staggering a bit as he rose from his knees. He had been kneeling at the left of the three-eyed girl angel. Then he said, "You two were the ones in that French video, weren't you?"

Chibi Moon did not answer that question, but Sailor Venus had another. "First Moon, do you think you can destroy it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Neuhaus. 

Chibi Moon said, "I have a powerful attack . . . but I'm not sure I could destroy the bomb quickly enough. Sometimes I can phase it in and out but . . . I don't think so. Probably some pieces would hit the bomb before I could blast through and get a clear shot. If I did blast it, it wouldn't just go away . . . it's radioactive, isn't it?"

"Yes," said the nuclear specialist, "And poisonous, too. Still, better than having it detonate. If you can damage it, you may prevent it from detonating, or make the detonation only a partial one . . . exactly what is your attack like?"

"It most closely resembles a particle beam weapon," said Sailor Venus, "And my long range attack is like a laser. It is more precise but not as powerful. One of the _senshi_ has electromagnetic powers. Would a powerful electric shock destroy the electronics and disarm it? Perhaps a magnetic field?"

"Most likely either one would set it off," said the Captain, settling into a chair rather heavily.

The nuclear expert said, "It could prevent a _nuclear_ detonation . . . but I can't guarantee it. The nuclear device itself is clearly designed as a ballistic missile warhead. Very rugged design to survive re-entry." As he spoke, the nuclear expert went to the window and began to open the blinds--and he found himself suddenly on the floor as Venus' chain jerked his feet out from under him. "What? Why did you--"

"If the enemy sees us they may set off the bomb!," said Sailor Venus, "Or they may execute hostages to retaliate!"

"She's right," said General Thysson, closing the minute opening in the blinds the expert had made.

"And they have a man on the roof with a fifty caliber rifle," said Colonel Gage. "He's got nothing much to do but watch the windows here. I think maybe the lady kept you from growing a couple of new assholes."

The expert picked himself up slowly, glowering but saying nothing.

General Thysson said, "Thank you for your help, ah--"

"_Seerabinessu,_" said Venus. "Sailor Venus."

"Well . . . Thank you, Sailor Venus. It looks like they have us by the ears here. Maybe a combined operation with Colonel--"

"There is something else we can do," interrupted Sailor Venus, the ghost of the last General of the Moon Kingdom very apparent in her commanding voice. "But first--First Moon!"

"_Hai._"

"You will return the Second Moon to base and remain there. You will be under the orders of the base commander."

"But Auntie--" Chibi Moon started to protest--and then she glanced down at Kimi Moon, and said, "_Hai._"

"Wait, First Moon._ Sensei,_ Greymage, return with the First Moon."

"Why must I return?" protested Naru in the Old Tongue. "I can--"

Sailor Venus answered in the Old Tongue. "You are in pointless danger here. Perhaps you can help get Sailor Moon back. Go back with the First Moon."

Thysson watched as the two "ordinary" women huddled close to the two angels and then vanished with them, even as the President had appeared with them and the other angels--the _senshi_--in the Pentagon's inner courtyard not much more than an hour before. _I wonder when the Klingons_ _will show up . . ._ thought Thysson. But it was real. He turned back to the blond one, the leader, and asked, "Just exactly what else can you do?"

"We can combine our powers for an attack," said Sailor Venus. "This should be powerful enough to destroy the bomb very quickly."

Colonel Gage spoke up. "If you're sure you can do it, what's the problem? Why didn't you tell us before?"

"The attack will also destroy the White House," said Sailor Venus.

_And kill everyone in it_, General Thysson added in his mind. "What's this attack like?"

"Something like the beam from _Independence Day,_" said Saturn, who had seen that a _lot_ along with other old movies waiting for Rhea to come.

"We don't use it much," coughed Mars. "It usually takes too long to set up in a fight."

"And it does much damage," said Pluto. "The last time it was used--"

Sailor Venus cut her off. "It is very powerful, at least the equivalent of an attack by several warplanes, but concentrated on a small area--a few meters across."

Sailor Mercury added, "Now that we know exactly where the bomb is, I can aim our attack using my sensor. It will not miss."

General Thysson turned to sulking nuclear expert. "Would something like that be enough?"

"As the good Captain here said," the expert said sharply, "I wouldn't bet my life on it."

* * *

The possible nuclear weapon in the White House was the biggest secret in the USA since the Manhattan Project, but it began to leak almost immediately. Slowly, at first . . . the inevitable calls to loved ones, friends, _just this one exception . . ._ and the first echelon to get The Word were mostly security-minded themselves . . . but they had their own exceptions, of course, and The Word spread to a second echelon, a little distorted, of course. So it proceeded, each new generation of The Word gaining new permutations. It was slowed by a remarkably convenient breakdown in the local phone system--a breakdown which certain federal agencies seemed exempted from. But The Word spread and mutated, and by the time General Thysson informed the President how real and how serious the situation was, The Word had reached His Honor Winston Claybourne, Mayor of the District of Columbia, in versions from the third generation through the seventh. And, of course, it had reached the press, too. So when the "fighters" as their spokesman called them--spokeswoman now, according to word from the DC police, which still had a hand in the negotiations--made their latest "generous" gesture by releasing their remaining African-American prisoners, the mayor found himself fielding more questions about the bomb threat rumors instead of more about the ordeal of the hostages or even the mysterious battle of the night before . . .

* * *

**4:56 pm EDT**

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," Winston Claybourne said, "If I may use an old-fashioned courtesy . . . These rumors are just that, rumors. If there was anything to them, my office would have been informed _long_ ago. Now, just a moment before any more questions," he said, holding out both hands like a traffic cop ordering a halt. "I've been hearing the same crazy rumors that the people in control of the White House now have nerve gas or ebola germs or even atomic bombs. But stop and think, all of you. Those rumors just don't make sense. The people we are dealing with here are not stupid. If they really had tons and tons of poison gas, or barrels and barrels of some deadly disease culture, or atomic bombs, they wouldn't need to risk their lives to take over the White House. This talk has some people packing everything into their cars and heading out of town. But it is just talk, just _fool_ talk, and I'm telling all of you citizens out there not to listen to it. We've got the biggest storm coming to these parts in a good long while, and any of you folks without an important job to do now should be home getting ready for it, not out on the roads having accidents and gettin' cold and wet and hungry and maybe lost and out of gas somewhere for _nothing_ but some _fool talk_. Now, that's all I'm gonna say about that, so don't ask me any more about it, you'd just be wasting your time and mine."

When the press conference was over, the White House Press Secretary extended a hand to the Mayor. "You made very timely remarks, Your Honor. Exactly what we need right now."

The Mayor responded cordially to those remarks. He said nothing at all about getting his own family out of town, which he had arranged about two hours earlier. Clayborne was far outside the the White House loop, but he had a good nose for rumor, and he smelled some truth underneath the stories that were still spreading.

* * *

**6:21 pm EDT**

Charles Sumpter waited until his debriefers had seemed finished with their questions before asking his own. It was not a long wait; his story was simple. After being taken away from the East Room, he was put with the other African American men in a small basement room. There he had been literally in the dark most of the time. One of their number was a Muslim who understood enough Arabic to catch that their captors talked about "djinn." But that was the only inkling Sumpter had that what they had meant was an Angel Incident. "Do you mean to tell me this Angel stuff is real?"

"_Bishoujo senshi,_" said Major Vierhofen, someone Sumpter had never met but who seemed to know Ballin and the Acting Director quite well now. "That's what the Japanese call them."

Kerkorian said, "You've answered all our questions well enough, Mr. Sumpter, but I'm wondering . . . Do you think you remember everything?"

"What do you mean?"

"There are reports of memory lapses," said Vierhofen a little too quickly. "Have you had anything like that?"

Sumpter was about to say he didn't, but then--"Yes. I did have something like that. It was a few hours before the takeover."

"Was anyone with you?" asked the the Acting Director--the _Acting Director_ of the FBI was asking him.

"I was with Ms. Jones, the woman you told us about at the briefing. And Mrs. Chiba. She was the only guest in a wheelchair. Also a guard, Officer Jardin, she was there." Sumpter paused. "I didn't see Officer Jardin after the takeover. Is she--"

"I'm afraid she was one of the casualties," said Vierhofen.

Sumpter forgot about Mrs. Chiba, thinking about Jardin and her two children. None of his debriefers cared to remind him about her.

* * *

**7:00 pm EDT**

Walter Rostov began speaking to the President and a small group that did not come close to filling all the chairs around the conference table. "Project Galatine was set up at the NSA because, I'm sure you all know, the monitoring of sensitive technologies has been a National Security Agency responsibity since the passage of the Church-Huong act of 1975. The original intent was to investigate and if possibly acquire technologies developed by the many secret programs established by the Soviet Union, and prevent their acquisition by non-friendly nations or organizations."

"Galatine began to acquire material on the so-called magic girl incidents in Japan two years after the collapse of the former Soviet Union. There were also incidents in Britain, but we did not directly investigate them until several years later. The reason we investigated was that there were certain indicators that the "magic girl" incidents, at least some of them, involved the use of energy weapons."

"Our investigations eventually covered a good bit of the world. Our investigations show fairly convincing evidence for some magic-girl incidents in Germany, Italy, Greece, Australia, Botswana, South Africa, Mexico, and several Caribbean nations, as well as the US. There were particularly interesting incidents reported in Los Angeles and the Chicago area--very strange, Chicago. But we found nothing conclusive. The incidents peaked about nine years ago, and then rapidly tapered off. Interestingly, they dropped about two years earlier in Japan, where the phenomenon began."

"We were seldom able to investigate these incidents directly, so we had to rely for the most part on cooperation with other agencies, Central Intelligence, the Bureau, and a few trusted overseas sources. While the total amount of evidence we gathered was impressive, we did not get compelling evidence for any single incident."

"The reports of angels began in California a little over ten years ago, but the first credible angel incident was in Michigan seven years ago. It involved Xavier Goudan, the so-called cabin killer. Once we had that connection, we looked at Bureau records and discovered a statistical correlation between the occurance of angel incidents and the abrupt end of the careers of some suspected serial killers."

"The Lake Merritt incident changed the direction of the Galatine investigation. The evidence seemed indisputable that at least some of the so-called angel girl incidents were authentic, and did not involve weapons of any sort we expected."

"Our attempts to more closely investigate the parties involved were blocked. As you are aware, Minako Jones is the stepdaughter of D. A. Alvarson, head of the Grey Group. We--"

"You are not in the Agency any more, Mr. Rostov," said the National Security Advisor with irritation. "Please, speak for yourself."

"Very well. _I_ believe Alvarson exerted pressure to quash the investigation. Nevertheless, certain colleagues and I managed to continue the investigation on a low level. We did manage do assemble statistical evidence that makes a connection between Ms. Jones and her friends and the angel incidents almost certain. That is what I was attempting to tell you, Madame President, the last time we met. I presume," Rostov said, "You have altered your opinions as to the plausibility of these so-called angels."

The President smiled, totally inappropriately. She said, "Go on. The Acting Director of the Bureau informs me that this investigation of yours continued even after Dr. Threlkeld took over the Agency. Much to the surprise of Dr. Threlkeld."

"Yes, Madame President," said Rostov. "The late Director Halinan cooperated to do this. He said he had found something important, just before he died. I'm afraid I do not know what it was. I was instrumental in setting up this unnofficial continuation of the Galatine investigation, but I have not intervened in NSA affairs in any way since I left the agency."

Rostov looked around the table, sizing up people. The President he could not read, but the Acting Director was another matter. "Ms. Kerkorian, I presume you do know what my late friend discovered. May I ask what it was?"

The President spoke. "No, I'm afraid you may not, Mr. Rostov. Galatine is Top Secret and will remain so. You may go now."

* * *

The pretty red-headed waitress reappeared with more drinks. "Usagi-kun, aren't you afraid Rei-kun will catch you and tell Mamoru?"

"No, Unazuki," said the girl--perhaps a bit older now. She was dressed in a simple formal now.

"You have changed again," Nagy said after the waitress vanished again. "You are taller, too."

The girl said, "Yes . . . This is the dress I wore for my first dance with Jimmy-chan. Also for the first time he kissed me . . . I was always a little taller than Jimmy-chan. It was worse for him in these high heels." She sipped her drink.

"Who is the waitress?"

"She was Furuhata Unazuki. I do not think it is not really her, Nagy-san. She is as I most remember her, working at Fruit Parlor Crown. I think she must have had some talent like Naru-chan because so many of our old enemies sought her out." The girl sipped her drink again. "She married a famous sumo wrestler, an American from Hawaii. They had a little girl, but the marriage didn't work out and they divorced quickly. He had a drinking problem. He killed himself driving drunk just a few months later. And after that . . . " 

The girl took another sip. "After that Unazuki wanted to get far away, so she took a job in the United Nations in New York as an interpreter. She stopped by my house to visit on her way there, but I was away. When I got back, she was dead. A boy stabbed her because he was angry that she did not have enough money on her when he robbed Unazuki. He was only thirteen." 

She sipped again, but now she was the Death Angel. "He will be eligible for parole next year. We shall see then." Another sip. "After all that, a boy with a knife ended her life. Motoki and Reika are raising her daughter." She finished the drink.

Furuhata Unazuki, forever seventeen, appeared to serve another.

* * *

**Kensington, CA  
4:55 pm PDT**

Lorraine Nussbaum Tiggs was in the kitchen preparing some formula for Persephone when Sarah Uer appeared in--literally, with a shopping cart overflowing with groceries. Mrs. Umino's older girls didn't blink an eye; they simply started helping unload the cart.

Lorraine said, "This is what you were doing before, when you visited, isn't it?"

Sarah replied, "Yes. This is the first thing I learned to do. It's kind of a long walk to the market and everyone is getting hungry. I can't drive yet, you know."

"I could have driven you."

"I guess so . . . I didn't think to ask you. Don't tell my mom about it, will you?

No one was going to tell her mother anything now . . . Sarah's mother was the floating lady, the one that looked like an Angel of Death. And so had Sarah, when they had come here.

_Marty must have known._

Lorraine noticed Sarah give her a funny look, but neither of them said anything about it.

A few minutes later, Lorraine glanced up at the forgotten kitchen TV and saw that the President was speaking . . .

* * *

**8:00 pm EDT**

"Good evening, America," said the President to millions of citizens. "As you know, an unidentified group seized control of the White House two nights ago and, despite a rescue attempt that freed myself and a number of hostages, this group is still in possession of the Executive Mansion and at least some living hostages."

"It has long been the policy of this nation to refuse to give in to the demands of hostage takers. This is a policy I have continued to support. However, in this case, the issue is more than the hostages still being held in the White House. Because of this, I have ordered the Federal agencies concerned to accede to the demands of this group as well as we can."

"All prisoners held in Federal facilities will be released forthwith with full pardons. I have requested the cooperation of the several governors of States where prisoners on the list are being held in State prisons. I have asked the governments of France, Japan, and Israel to release the remaining prisoners."

"An aircraft will be provided to evacuate the group. Loaded aboard will be the payment that was specified in the demands as released yesterday."

"Let me speak directly to the group holding the White House. I know at least one of you is listening and understands me."

"You have succeeded. We are granting you everything in our power out of the demands your leader sent out yesterday. You will be allowed to leave this country and proceed to whatever safe haven you have prepared, and you will not be pursued. This will happen provided you do two things: That you release your remaining hostages, and that you disarm your device and leave it also."

"Some hours ago the Mayor of the District Columbia spoke what seemed good sense. The worst storm in many years seems about to hit Washington, and it is a very poor time to be out on the road. However, since word keeps spreading of the threats the people holding the White House may have made, many of you are leaving the District, and more are thinking of leaving."

"My advice is as the Mayor's: stay where you are. Fleeing our Capitol is still more likely to bring you to harm than staying here. However, certain key members of the government have left the Capitol, including the Vice President. I myself will remain here at the Pentagon until the resolution of this crisis, but I have taken steps to ensure that our government will continue without disruption regardless of its outcome."

"The reason for this selective evacuation is this: The hostage-takers have made an additional threat, to set of a nuclear device in an American city. They made this threat with the proviso that it not be publicized. But since the word keeps spreading and spreading, as people who know of the evacuation act on their own to inform their friends and loved ones, this demand is moot."

"We have acquired intelligence that the people holding the White House are in possession of a genuine nuclear device. I am informed by Civil Defense that a general evacuation is not advisable, given the approach of Hurricane Bartlett. The best estimate is that it would take 48 hours to evacuate the city and the surrounding area in perfect weather. Since the deadline our opponents have set is only 20 hours away, a general evacuation does not offer much hope."

"However, this country is a democracy, and its citizens have a right to make informed decisions of their own. I hope most of you in and around our nation's Capitol will decide to stay home and prepare to weather these two crises, the storm and the threat. But it is your own decision to make. I have ordered that our armed forces allow people to proceed out of the area as long as they do not block vital routes in and out of the Capitol."

"Now I am going to address the people who made this threat again. Because of the storm, normal air travel from the area will be impossible tonight and probably all of tomorrow. Ground transportation should be reasonably safe by noon. The aircraft we are providing you will be flying to an airport far enough north to be out of the storm track, and if you leave at noon tomorrow, you should be able to reach it before dark."

"If you set off your device, the United States of America well spare no expense and no resource seeking out the people who sponsored your attack. If you are, in fact, acting for a national government, that nation will find itself at war with the United States of America. Think long and hard about that."

* * *

Someone new stepped out of the shadows, not the girl serving drinks. Her hair was the gray of platinum, her eyes gunmetal. Her gown was gray, with intricate designs and symbols picked out in fine colored thread. She wore a _grey_ babushka of the same color, and similar decoration. She wore a necklace made of small bones. She carried a long staff, silver, with a silver replica of a human skull set at the top. From under the babushka, on each side of her head, sprays of feathers protruded, concealing most of her ears.

"Grey Lady," said Nagy's companion in this place, now very ordinary in shirt and jeans, "How are you here?"

"This place is in my provenance, child," answered the woman of gray. "But not yet yours. You cannot remain here safely." The woman turned her gaze on Nagy. "And who are you?"

"I am Colonel Istvan Nagy," he replied. "And you?"

"Dr. Goodman will do. You will not have heard of me," said the woman, "But your people know of my mother. You have gypsy blood."

"Do you read minds like this one?"

"No," said the woman, "But there is no mistaking the aura of a true gypsy, not by any who know the Arts." She tapped her staff on the limitless floor, made gestures, spoke words that meant nothing to Nagy and yet . . .

The woman announced, "You are bound. Bound to one another, and bound to a task. You cannot leave here until that task is completed."

"A task?" asked Nagy "What?"

"_That,_" said the woman of gray, "I do not know yet. Sailor Moon, how did you use the _ginzuishou_?"

"I have not used it," Nagy's companion replied, now a lovely nude angel with a jewel set at the base of her throat.

"It has been used recently," said the woman of gray. "Tell me what has happened. I have not been to your world; I came when I noticed you were here."

* * *

**Chapter 28: The Storm**

* * *

The Grey Lady worked more of her magic, including some words and gestures Sailor Moon half-remembered Naru using, but faster, smoother. Then she sighed. "I have discovered your task. It was what you intended to do when you made the link. You have to find Fazi al Kaukji and find out from him about the bomb. You must have activated the _ginzuishou_ unconsciously when you tried to find Fazi, and it brought you here and bound you to that task."

"What is this _ginzuishou_ you keep speaking of?"

"Something that makes an h-bomb look like a firecracker," said the Grey Lady. She shook her head.

"Then we must look for him?" asked Sailor Moon, now in her rainbow-winged form.

"No. I told you that you don't belong here. If you stay much longer, your links to your lives will sever. You would never find Fazi in time, and you could easily get so lost I could not find you in time." The Grey Lady shook her head. "If only Fazi were Chinese. I am on very good terms with most of the important Magistrates of Ghosts. We will have to do something else."

She pulled two feathers from her hair, black ones, wincing as she did so. After more incantations and gestures, she tossed them into the air. They went up into the darkness . . .

And two more-than-man-sized things came down from the darkness, landing nimbly on their three-toed feet. They came to the Grey Lady, and bowed their heads to her. She reached out to pat the black-feathered, large-eyed creatures. Then she spoke an arcane command, and they bounded off into the darkness.

"What in the devil were _those?_" asked Nagy.

"_Troodon Arteminski,_" said the Grey Lady. "They haven't been discovered by your people. Perhaps they did not evolve in your line."

* * *

**White House  
8:18 pm EDT**

" . . . announcement, there are reports of new accidents along many of the main roads leading out of the Washington/Alexandria area . . ."

Like Sultan, Baiburs always seemed to have the television on, though he was not watching it as Maria Horthy stepped in to the Monroe Office. Baiburs was reading a book, and he did not look up from it. Sergeiev, now the second rank with Beriev gone, requested attention by bringing the butt of his assault rifle down on the antique desk, adding more distress to the wood.

Baiburs peered up over his half-frame reading glasses and said, "Is there something you wish to discuss?"

"Is it _real?_" demanded Horthy.

"The device? Yes, it is real." Baiburs closed his book and set it aside. "Fascinating. This is the journal of an English officer from two centuries ago. He was in the army that took this city and burned the public buildings. Later he fought in the revolutionary wars in South America, and eventually became one of Mehmet Ali's officers. Possibly he could be an ancestor of mine through my mother."

"We can discuss your family history some other time," said Horthy. "Why have you kept this secret from us? If you have a real bomb, why do you even need us?"

"We chose you to make certain we could bring the device here," said Baiburs. "And also to present a more international face to America and the world. You have performed both tasks well, and you will be rewarded."

"In heaven?" said Sergeiev.

"Perhaps, but I was speaking of the here and now," said Baiburs smoothly. "If the Americans or their _djinn_ friends attack us again and threaten to overwhelm us, I will set off the device." 

Horthy said, "We did not sign on for a glorious death."

Baiburs said, "I myself would very much like to live on, if I can do it and accomplish my mission."

"And what is your mission?" Horthy said.

"What it always was, too pull the teeth of the American monster," said Baiburs, betraying some real feeling, perhaps. "After this, they will think more carefully before they send in their cruise missiles and stealth bombers and their Rapid Deployment Force."

"You actually intend to set it off," said Horthy, perhaps as much to herself as Baiburs. "You would not have brought a working bomb if you were not sure you would use it. The Americans would never let you take it away with you."

Baiburs pulled off his reading glasses and put them carefully in their case. "I think I will be handling negotiations with the Americans personally from now on, _Major._"

Maria Horthy drew her pistol and put it to Baiburs' temple. He did not flinch, or resist. Instead he said, "We also anticipated this problem, Major. If you want to survive, put that weapon away."

Maria was already beginning to squeeze the trigger, but she eased off. "Just why do we need to worry about you? Your men are scum. Even if they would fight to avenge you, we would swat them down like so many flies."

"The device can be detonated by radio. There is a very dedicated man outside who calls me at random intervals. If he can't reach me, he will send the detonation signal. He almost did when the Commander was killed. It was a closer thing than you knew."

"You are lying," said Horthy.

"No, it is the truth," said Baiburs without a trace of disturbance. "There is also a timer on the device which is set to quite a short interval now. If I don't periodically enter a code--a different code each time, incidentally--the device will detonate at the end of the next interval. With the Commander gone, I am the only one who has memorized the codes to handle the device. There is no codebook, although there is a sham codebook for the Americans to find. It is, of course, a trap."

"Now if you assume," continued Baiburs, "That the device is a sham, or that my confederate will not or cannot detonate it, or that you can disarm it in time, there is one more thing to consider. If you look in my briefcase over there, you will find a folder sealed with green tape. I think you will find some interesting things in it. Particularly you, _Major._"

* * *

**The Pentagon  
Alexandria, Virginia  
9:14 pm EDT**

General Brinkman returned to the situation room bearing news. "They have a new man talking to the negotiators now. 'Second Commander Baiburs.' Whether or not he's the same as the 'Major Baiburs' the hostages talked about he won't say."

General Thysson said, "Internal dissension?"

Brinkman shrugged. "It's possible. Nothing bad enough to provoke gunfire, that we would have picked up. But the laser mikes are useless; have been since about seven, so we won't be picking up any more conversation; the windows are vibrating too much. Wind's up to thirty knots now, gusts up to sixty. Power's out in a lot of places now; the negotiators warned them about it."

"What are they saying now?" asked the President.

"They regret we have chosen to violate their terms once again, blah blah blah. After the propaganda line, though, Baiburs said that our proposal for a longer ground evacuation was quote 'of interest considering the circumstance of the storm' unquote. Whoever he is, he speaks a very polished English."

The President took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, eyes closed. "How bad is the situation on the roads."

Karol Tesla, the head of the Department of Defense, said, "Abysmal. All the major outlets from the District are now blocked. Considering the fallout pattern from a five to ten megaton groundburst which will be directed inland by the storm, these people are attempting a worse than futile action. As the good mayor warned, many are running out of gasoline already. We can expect dozens, perhaps hundreds of fatalities from exposure; thousands requiring medical care. The ones on foot, most of them seem to be ready to take shelter, at least according to the reports I've heard."

The President asked, "Is the panic getting worse?"

"I don't think so, Madame President," said Tesla. "The real panickers, they have already gone. The ones that are prudent enough to make some preparations, I think they largely see that it is pointless to flee now. At least if they are watching television or listening to radio news reports. We have been using the Emergency Broadcast System to frequently update the situation in case the commercial stations miss something."

"Thank you," said the President. "General Thysson, that long look on your face indicates to me that you want to say something. What is it?"

"Madame President," said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, "I think you should consider the option I spoke to you about. The terrorists seem to be unstable. Another change in leadership might put someone in charge who wants to detonate their device. And if we act now, at least some of the people out there may be able to return home before the storm makes it impossible."

"But there is still the chance that option could set off the bomb, isn't there, General?"

"Madame President," said General Thysson, "I think that if the device is real, the terrorist leadership plan to set it off no matter what we do."

"That doesn't fit the profile for Nagy, the man who led the takeover," said Buonnarti, the CIA Director. "Not unless he's had some sort of conversion. He's been a strictly bottom-line merc. He's done some high-risk stuff, but deliberate suicide? No."

Glancing at the President, General Thysson said, "It is quite possible Colonel Nagy and his troops were not briefed about the device. At any rate, Colonel Nagy doesn't seem to be in charge now."

"I still say their so-called device is a hoax," said Pfinney, the Secretary of Energy--among his responsiblities was the design, production, and maintenance of the U.S. nuclear aresenal. "If they had a working thermonuclear weapon, they could have just parked it somewhere in town. And anyway, this isn't the best target. Why not one of our power reactors? Much easier targets, and much more lasting damage."

"I agree," said Tesla. "This whole operation seems like a crackpot scheme. Still, Dr. Contini was very convincing. He describes a working design for a weapon. And with the elaborate system of traps, clearly they foresaw us attempting to disarm it."

"Maybe they figure it will take us long enough trying to disarm it that we won't know it's a fake until after they get away," suggested Pfinney. "We won't be able to make a detailed analysis of the device until it is disarmed."

"Or we set it off trying to disarm it," said Thysson. "Mr. Buonnarti, assuming the device is real, how would you view the terrorists."

"If it's real," said Buonnarti, "Then they ain't terrorists. Pony nukes are one thing, but a thermonuclear weapon is not something you can build in someone's garage." Buonnarti grew thoughtful. "If it is real . . . This scheme of theirs does make some sense. The real backers, they can just say these people were madmen, nothing to do with them. Al Kaukji gives us a link to Iraq, but he's worked with others. He's deniable."

Pfinney protested, "This overblown scheme of theirs may have worked somehow, but how can you say it makes sense?" He tapped his old West Point ring on the table. "I'm not ignorant of basic strategy, you know."

"Yes," said Tesla, "The plan of the terrorists seems totally irrational to me if they possess a real weapon."

"As a military operation, I'm sure it is nonsense," said Buonnarti. "But politically, it isn't. So far the enemy has managed to portray themselves fairly well, worldwide. Kaukji did a good job of denying responsibility for the brutality against the hostages. Their demands have been realistic, and they have shown forebearance--no hostage executions they admit to. They've claimed all the hostage fatilities were caused by our actions."

"Nonsense," said Thysson. "None of the so-called _senshi_ use firearms. Our forces didn't fire a shot."

"I'm not accusing _you,_ General," said Buonnarti. "They are lying. But their lie is being broadcast and printed now, and a lot of people will believe it--even here."

"Do you have any special point to your speculations, Director Buonnarti?" asked the President.

"Yes, Madame President," said Buonnarti. "If the weapon is real, the backers intend to use it. If possible, they will have some way to control the weapon that is beyond the control of their people inside the White House. We may gain more time by cooperating with them now, but now my advice is the same as General Thysson's. I take it this option involves our new friends?"

All eyes were on the President. At length, she said, "Your advice is well-taken. But I am going to wait, for now. We may have other options later."

* * *

Major Vierhofen asked Seerabesu, "What language are they speaking?"

"It is the Old Tongue--" Besu started to explain, before Sere cut her off.

"It is the old language of the North," said Sere. "Very few can still speak it. Most Northerners speak only Japanese. The ones that still can speak it, most of them do not use it around strangers."

"Can you tell me what they are saying?" he asked Besu.

"No," said Sere.

* * *

"Uranus, Neptune, Saturn, you may assist with the rescue efforts," said Sailor Venus. "But first, you should help get Mars home. With the help of the Asatara, we have enough power to launch our Planet Attack if we need to."

Sailor Mars started to protest, but she bent over in a spasm. Sailor Jupiter caught her; she seemed to have lost her power to levitate for the moment. Mars grimaced, but she still got out her words. "If I go back and stay, Chibi Moon will find out what we are going to do. And we need all the power we can muster to do this thing. Mercury, am I right? The more power, the better chance we have to destroy the bomb before it goes off?"

"Yes," said Sailor Mercury. "But you should still return. You are getting worse. Your powers could fail during the attack."

Mars was not finished. "You don't want me to have my father's blood on my hands, Mina-chan. And it is the same for the others, is it not?"

Venus slowly nodded. Then she said, quietly, "Chibi Moon already knows. I felt her in my mind before she left. I think she also knows what we do not want to do. Do all of you agree with me?"

Saturn said, "The First Moon and the Second Moon must survive."

"This could all be a plan for the coming enemy to destroy them," said Neptune. "The enemy did not have to face the First and Second Moons in cycles before, did they, Pluto?"

"None that I have lived through," said Pluto, "Or heard of."

"I have spent years trying to divine the coming enemy," said Mars. "Can you tell us anything about them?"

"Nothing that would help," said Pluto. "The enemy has been different in each cycle, when there was an enemy to fight. Sometimes the cycle turns on what seems to be a natural disaster. Sometimes it is a great war among the world's nations. The only common things about the cycles are the Time Gate and the Moon Princess and the Earth Prince beginning the new dynasty. Even the world-freezing has not happened in all cycles."

Jupiter said, "That is more than you have told us all your life, Sailor Pluto."

Sailor Venus broke the silence that followed by saying, "Very well. Mars, you will go back. We can take turns doing rescue work except for Mercury--I am sorry, but we will need you here to target the attack if we have to launch it."

Mars coughed and spit out a little bloody froth, betraying her now-punctured lung. "There is one more thing I should do here. If the bomb detonates, probably none of you here will survive and everyone in the White House will be killed. I want you to write out holograph wills. I will take them with me."

* * *

Old Hino-san said, "I thought Heaven would smell better."

That provoked choked laughter in the Ambassador, but no one else in the room. Hino had made the joke to stop the Minister from going on again about his heroism. Saburo Hino was embarrassed, and he was glad of the dark, so people could not see his face.

The fact was: he had seen the grenade, fallen on it, and thought about it only much later. If he had to do it over, he would have kicked the thing away--perhaps. It had all been reflex. The thing was a dud, anyway, like the other one he hadn't seen until later. The gods were in the mood to play a joke.

It was also reflex that he had filled his pants, and the ablutions admistered by the Tsukino boy much later had been inadequate. Hino knew he had to be the source of most of the stink in the room.

The stench had had one good result, though. While Tsukino Shingo had been cleaning him, the smell had driven the guard from the room, so Tsukino had been able to whisper a little news. The women and children had been released. There was also something about _senshi,_ soldiers, but the guard had returned before Tsukino could say more.

_So, the Americans have tried to free us and have been driven off,_ mused Hino. _Praiseworthy that they made the effort, but embarrassing that it failed._ The brutes holding them were going to come out heros, even to some Japanese, the ones who saw the United States as the eternal antagonist. Not a large segment of the Japanese population held those opinions, but Hino knew that some of them, too many, held some of the real power in Japan.

_The Americans are going to lose some of their fairweather friends in Japan, _thought Hino. The already large faction favoring priority for better relations and more joint ventures with China would grow; the much smaller pro-Russian lobby would also pick up some influence. _Still, nothing the Americans will really notice for a long time . . . China may be more stylish now, but America is the vital market. The only comparable one is the European Union, but they will never be as open to our trade as America is. The Kairetsu hold the balance of power, and the kairetsu exist to make money, so Japan will play the same game with the Americans as long as they are willing to play, no matter what some of their leaders _really_ would like to do to the Americans . . . _

_But Deja-chan is really an American,_ thought old Hino, and it disturbed him mightily.

* * *

The full fury of Hurricane Bartlett fell along the Atlantic Coast of Virginia and Maryland; Washington, D.C. faced only a much-diminished storm. Still, the storm lingered long, with winds of at least forty knots between 10 pm and 6 am, and of mostly over fifty knots in most areas around the District between midnight and three. Gusts of up to one hundred knots were recorded.

For some people who had taken to the roads, help came. For a very few, it came on angels' wings. For most, help did not come. Around the hour of three in the District and around it, many lives ended in cold wet darkness.

At the hour of three in Washington DC, midnight turned in California, and in the room where Naru wove her spells trying to bring Usagi back, the antique clock struck out the hour in the style of the Westminster chimes. The final tolling of twelve long notes prompted Naru to stop, put her face in her hands and sob, because the chimes seemed to be not just ringing out an old day, but ringing out Usagi's life. Her art would not bring back any of them, not Usagi, not Gurio . . .

Naru uncovered her face and turned to the door. Chibi-usa was standing there.

"Chi-Sarah, it's quiet," said Naru, grabbing a very mundane tissue to dab her cheeks. "All the children must be asleep now. Maybe you should be, too. Whatever tomorrow brings, it will be a busy day. We'll need you."

Chibi-usa came closer. She took her mother's hand, and then she said, "What do you really think, Auntie Naru?"

Naru felt the unmistakeable touch of Chibi-usa in her mind, much less subtle than Usagi's. Nevertheless, she sounded out her answer. "Your mother's soul is elsewhere, and she is slowly losing her connection with this life. And you must _not_ link with her; your soul would follow hers."

"If you can't do anything," said Chibi-usa, "Maybe I should use the _ginzuishou._"

"That is too dangerous," said Naru. "And even if it were not, I don't think you can now. The _ginzuishou_'s aura shows it is active now, being used, somehow. It is so closely tied to your mother, I think if you try to take control, that will trap your soul, too."

Chibi-usa transformed to Chibi Moon and floated up so she could kiss her mother's unfeeling face. Then she asked, "Is there any hope? Any reason to hope?"

"The Grey Lady is helping somehow," said Naru. "I can tell it she is using her magic on your mother, wherever she really is. And I'm sure we will get other help."

"If Auntie Argent can't break the spell," said Chibi-usa, "The little man is the only one I know of who might."

"Our Founder cannot be everywhere at once," said a new voice from the door, "Or if he can, he has probably forgotten that spell, too."

"Theophilus!" said Naru.

"Madame Umino, Little Moon," said the bizarrely dressed newcomer, "I am here to offer my own small Art. Condolances on your loss, Madame. There may yet be time for me to--"

"No, Theophilus," said Naru. "Even if there were time."

"Very well," said the man, opening a smallish case. "I shall limit myself to my own poor Art."

Chibi Moon came down and detransformed. "You don't need to feed, do you?"

"If you are offering yourself, Little Moon," the man said, "I must decline. My intuition tells me your full strength may be needed. However, if you can arrange for a mundane friend to volunteer," he continued, assembling his clarinet, "Or more than one, it would be helpful. I may be your guest for some time." He completed the instrument by attaching the bell, which had a small silver skull set into the ebony, and made to play a few notes. No sound emerged, but he seemed satisfied.

Naru heard crying, probably Ikuko-chan again. Chibi-usa began to leave the room, but she turned back for a moment and said, "Where have you been that they dress like _that?_"

"Another place I cannot tell you of, Little Moon, unless you take the vows of the Company."

* * *

Except when the nightmares came, Sarah had the gift of her mother: the ability to fall asleep quickly whenever she wished. So, when she had Chibi Ikuko back down, she went to her room, the room she shared with Kimi and Ishi--the room between her mother's room, and Auntie Minako's room. Ishi was in her mother's bed, with Isi and Aki now. Kimi was alone in their room--and still awake.

"Where's Lily?" asked Sarah, sitting on Kimi's bed.

"She went with Meti-chan," said, "To keep her company."

"That is Lily," muttered Sarah. Then she said "Can't sleep? Are you afraid of a bad dream?"

"No," said Kimi. "I'm wondering why Mama Venus won't let me come back. I can help so much. Neri-chan is asking, too."

_And probably listening to us, if she's awake._ Sarah reached out and put her hand on Kimi's head. "Venus-sama knows best, Second Moon."

* * *

Nagy saw someone new step out of the darkness. It was a little girl in a pretty frock, dark-skinned, with big dark eyes, clutching a cloth doll with yellow yarn making its hair--and the doll's hair looked like--

The little girl walked up to the woman in grey and the woman in the wheelchair, the Death Angel in the wheelchair. The Death Angel asked her, "Who are you?"

"Keesha."

"Why are you scared of me?"

"You have skulls all over you. You look scary."

"May I see your doll?"

The little girl held out the doll. 

"It is a Sailor Moon doll," said the Death Angel.

"I thought she got lefted behind," said the little girl, "But now I have her. I'm in my bestest dress. Am I in Heaven now?"

The lady in gray said, "What do you remember before you came here?"

"Gramma took me an' Tanya to the car and we drove real fast until we were in a buncha cars. Gramma tried to drive around them and we got stucked in the mud. Then the wind blew really hard. A truck tipped over on us. The top of the car was all mushed in. It was dark. It was real cold, and water came in and it was really cold. Tanya wouldn't wake up and Gramma wouldn't talk."

The Death Angel said, "Did you wish that Sailor Moon would really come to help?"

"Uh-huh . . . She's like an angel, she has wings." And the doll did have droopy cloth wings.

The lady in gray said, "Don't. If you use--"

"I was given this power to help," said the Death Angel. She turned back to the little girl and said, "I did not know you needed my help, Keesha-chan. But you will have it now.I am the real Sailor Moon."

"You don't look the same."

"I have changed. I am older than when your doll was made, Keesha-chan. I have girls of my own now. Come closer," said the Death Angel, as a brilliant jewel emerged from her, constantly changing, floating between her hands. "This is the _ginzuishou,_ the Silver Crystal. I will use it to help you." And it seemed to glow brighter than the sun . . .

* * *

_Something_ made Sailor Jupiter turn back and take another look at the overturned truck she had just flown over. And taking that second look, she saw something was under it. She blasted open the cargo compartment and threw the cargo out piece by piece until she had cleared the area over the car, then she ripped through the remaining wall and then the roof of the car below to expose the passenger compartment. It was almost filled with mud and water. The driver had died instantly, and one of the girls in the back was ice cold, long gone. But the other one was breathing. Jupiter blasted some of the remaining cargo to start a fire, and warmed and dried the girl before flying her through the driving rain to a shelter. _If only Chibi Moon was with us, I could save so many more with her to teleport._ But Sailor Jupiter did save this one.

* * *

**Chapter 29: Resolution**

* * *

**White House, Washington, DC  
6:54 am EDT**

MAJOR HORTHY was completing a full walkaround of the Third Floor, perhaps a quixotic act given the poor excuse for fowl weather gear she had, a raincoat over a sweater. She was soaked to the skin. Still, she had seen the complete prospect with her own eyes.

There were trees down in Lafayette park but, surprisingly, none on the White House grounds, though there were many fallen branches, some the size of small or not-so-small trees. A few of the third-floor windows were broken, but most had survived intact behind their shutters. The traditional windows divided up into small panes had held up well. There were many broken windows showing in the more modern buildings visible from the White House.

The wind was still strong, gusts dangerous. Perhaps the Americans were exagerating their predictions for the afternoon, but the weather was much too bad for flying now.

It was also too bad for Baiburs' lackeys, so when she found Sergeiev braving the weather with Vietingoff, she felt free to speak. "Sergeiev, have you talked with everyone?"

"All of our men," said the Siberian. "You have our support. What do you think we should do?"

"Be ready to act quickly. Baiburs wants us and the Americans to believe we will agree to the evacuation. I don't know if that is his real plan. Maybe he thinks he has a way to get himself away."

"That would surprise no one," said Veitingoff.

"Be careful around Fahd and his men, too," said Horthy. "My guess is that Baiburs has at least one plant among them."

"If we move against Baiburs, will Fahd support us?" asked Veitingoff.

"I don't know," said Horthy. "Fahd is a better man than Baiburs, but I think he is a patriot." She shrugged. "I have a special compulsion to stay here now, but if any man should find a way to leave, I will not complain."

"We signed with you and the Colonel," said Sergeiev. "We will all finish this thing together."

* * *

**7:38 am EDT**

"This just in . . . There was a gun battle a few moments ago between police and FBI agents and some alleged bank robbers. They were apparently discovered trying to break into bank offices located only a few blocks from FBI headquarters and shooting broke out . . . "

The mayor shook his head. "Business as usual for crooks, I guess," muttered Winston Clayborne, and then he said to an assistant, "Phil, call the Chief when you get a chance. Find out if he lost anyone?"

* * *

**7:39 am EDT**

The Acting Director of the FBI said, "I think the news release will hold up. Fortunately our friends set themselves up in a building that actually has a branch bank on the first floor."

"You mean there actually was more than one?" asked Buonnarti.

"Three men and one woman," said Anne Kerkorian. "We took the woman alive. They killed one of my agents and wounded two others, a policeman from the District force and a National Guard trooper."

"Another surprise," said Brinkman, the military intelligence man. "Still, accurate information. Our newest friend seems to be genuine."

"Don't be so sure," said Buonnarti.

"Why?" asked Brinkman.

"As Sun Tzu said, some spies are doomed. They may have sacrificed some of their people to make us trust their so-called defector. Dzerzhinsky was a master at this sort of thing."

The President was master of many facts, but she recognized neither the name of the Chinese strategist nor of Lenin's spymaster and chief secret policeman. "Why would they want us to believe they have a traitor, Mr. Buonnarti?"

Buonnarti said, "I don't know. Maybe to draw out this thing, get a little more propaganda out of it. Maybe to tempt us into making an attack so they can set off their bomb with cleaner hands. And maybe they want to get this 'defector' out so she can do more damage later. We're not really sure she is who we've been told. Anyway, we don't have much at all on her if she is really Maria Horthy. She might really belong to them."

"She is who we think," said the President.

"According to our friends?" said Buonnarti, a slight sneer in his voice, perhaps. 

_Of course, with the FBI and the NSA on the angels, the CIA looks third-best now. I don't need this . . . _"Mr. Buonnarti may have a point. We are not going to accept everything she tells us uncritically. However, we can't afford to ignore her."

* * *

**8:31 am EDT**

Maria Horthy checked her pager. She read the critical message, and then erased it. _One arrow gone from Baiburs' quiver, at least . . ._

* * *

**9:04 am EDT**

Baiburs said, "One of our operative teams was uncovered and overwhelmed by the Americans. This is regrettable. However, they are not our only outside resource." 

"Is the latest American proposal acceptable?" asked Horthy drily.

"If you mean, will the evacuation take place, yes it will, _Major,_" said Baiburs. "And soon, perhaps within the hour. Despite mishaps, the mission is almost accomplished." Baiburs lit a cigarette. "How is your Leftenent Colonel?"

"Still unconscious, but he is beginning to mutter things. Maybe he's coming out of it."

"A hopeful sign. Is he saying anything of importance?"

"If he is, no one understands it."

* * *

The things emerged from the darkness driving the man Nagy still thought of as "Sultan." He wasn't in his fancy uniform now; he was dressed in slacks and sport coat, looking very much like a typical academic--perhaps his insight about his lecturing had been right. How you appeared in this place seemed to depend on your mood, maybe . . . except that he still wore the same hussar's uniform, like in the picture book from so long ago.

The gray lady had changed a number of times, but now she was as she was when she first appeared, something that seemed more and more familiar to him somehow . . . but he could not explain it. The woman turned to the Death Angel and said, "Can you read him?"

"Yes. Fazi al Kaukji! How do you disarm your bomb?"

"I will not tell you!" Sultan answered defiantly, once more the "General."

"You already have. Is there something more?" The Death Angel took on an intense look of concentration.

Suddenly Nagy could hear Sultan's thoughts, see into his mind . . . and he realized--

"I'm inside your mind!"

"Yes," said the woman in gray. "You are in each other's minds. You have been since the link was made. You seem to talk and listen because that is the way your minds can accept it best."

"Then this place is not real?"

"Oh, it is real. Very real," said the woman in gray. Then she turned to the Death Angel, and did more of her magic. "Moon Princess, the link you made may have a final price. Only one of you may freely return. My art may let the other return, but I am doubtful. You are the sovereign of your worldline. You must choose who will go back."

The Death Angel turned to Nagy. "You must stop Baiburs before it is too late. I have seen your heart. You are an honorable enemy. You have showed kindness at risk to yourself. If I do not return, the Grey Lady will remember these things.."

And then he was gone from the strange place . . .

* * *

**7:22 am PDT**

Naru heard the screams and ran toward them. Everyone in the house seemed to be gathered outside Usagi's room except . . .

Except inside Carmen and Alison Gonsoles were doing CPR. Usagi was no longer the floating Death Angel; she was just a naked woman laid out on her bed, limp and lifeless as a rag doll.

Naru fought through the tears to _think._ She worked her Art and saw . . . 

"Chibi-moon! Luna!" she cried out, "I need you. The rest of you, out, there is nothing you can do now. See to the babies, your screaming has woken them up and scared them."

* * *

**10:22 am EDT**

"Istvan? Do you hear me now?"

Istvan Nagy opened his eyes to find Maria staring at him. 

"You've been babbling on for an hour. Can you actually talk some sense now?"

He looked down at himself. He was in a bed . . . this had to be the Third Floor, and this was a room for one of the live-in servants, or the less-important guests. And he was not in a hussar's uniform . . . he was in the same underwear he had been wearing since Friday Morning, and it smelled like it.

"What has happened?"

"You have missed much. We had a fight, but drove off whoever or whatever was attacking. Costumed women, mostly, straight out of comic books. Sultan is dead--"

"I know that," said Nagy. "Maria, where is Baiburs? You haven't shot him, have you?"

"No. I came damned close, but . . . His men have Zita."

"Damn . . . Does Baiburs control the bomb?"

"Yes," said Horthy. "How do you know about--"

"Did he say anything about resetting the timers?"

* * *

Usagi stood up. Her wheelchair faded away. 

"I warned you not to use the Ginzuishou here," said the Grey Lady.

"The wheelchair . . . it was here because it was part of my life?"

The Grey Lady did not answer the question.

"So . . . this is the world of death."

"An edge of it," said the Grey Lady. "The world of death is never far from any other world."

Usagi became the Death Angel, but with the short skirt she had worn before she was crippled. "I have my legs back. Mamoru loved my legs so much . . . so did Jimmy. He must be here too . . ."

The Grey Lady did not respond; she was working her Art again.

"I can still hear Nagy-san's thoughts, even see through his eyes a little," said Sailor Moon.

After she finished her latest spell, the Grey Lady said, "You are still linked with him. Your task is not finished."

* * *

**7:25 am PDT**

Auntie Setsuna's friend mistook Kimi for Ishi again, but Kimi did not correct her. She explained, "Sarah is using her magic to keep mama from dying."

"Is it working?"

"I don't think so. Give me Ishi-chan. Maybe I can help _her_."

Kimi Chiba walked away from the room where she could do nothing to help, trying to comfort Ikuko-chan. _I wonder if she knows,_ thought Kimi. 

Sarah would try to use the _ginzuishou _before long, of course, and that could kill her, too.

Kimi walked past her room, right next to _okasan's_, and past the nursery, full of fussing babies now, down to the opposite end of the walkway, quietly crying herself the whole way. Between two of the windows there was a mirror, always an attraction for Ikuko-chan, and Kimi pointed at their images, and held up Ikuko-chan in front of the mirror . . .

* * *

**10:29 am EDT**

Nagy's arguments with Baiburs did not impress the man, but he made a more than reasonable attempt before pulling out his pistol, aiming it at Baiburs' head, and squeezing the trigger.

Unfortunately, it did not fire, and he heard a mental apology from the woman who was still in his brain, after all. That was all he heard before Baiburs shot him.

And then he was back in the place without walls. The woman in gray was there, and the Death Angel, now looking sensual with long legs exposed by very short skirts--

And Maria was beside him, dressed in that eve-of-battle gown . . .

* * *

**7:30 am EPT**

In the mirror, Kimi saw it, Baiburs, the meanest man, shooting a man and a woman, and another man shooting yet another man who seemed about to shoot Baiburs. It was all over before she could do anything--except, instinctively, transform and shift Ikuko-chan to one hand so that she could use the other hand to . . . what? 

* * *

**10:30 am EDT**

"What happened?" demanded Fahd, stepping over Sergeiev, whom he had just shot.

"Nagy went mad and tried to kill me," said Baiburs. "He babbled on that he knew that our Commander had given me false codes."

"Their other men, they will attack us as soon as they know of this!"

Baiburs leveled his gun at Fahd. "Go out and tell the rest of them I will detonate the device if they do not lay down their arms."

"I just saved your life," said Fahd. "You do not need to point your gun at me!" He turned and left.

* * *

Sergeiev appeared to make his last report, and then another came . . . he was hard to recognize at first, because his hair had turned white and he was dressed very differently. But it was the man the Death Angel had so mourned.

"Endymion. Mamoru. I can be with you again now," said the Death Angel.

"No, not now," said the man with majesty in his voice. "Not yet. I have come to help."

"Help?"

"Your task is not finished. There is only one left who can stop the bomb."

* * *

**7:32 am PDT **

In the mirror, Kimi Moon saw Baiburs pull an antenna out of a laptop, and begin to type. 

_Use the rose!_

And before she could think of whose voices were sounding in her mind, before she knew, she had done it.

Then she stepped through the mirror. She heard Deja scream behind her just before, and now she heard shooting. But she listened to the voices in her mind first. 

_A429b$@ . . ._

* * *

**10:33 am EDT**

The time had come after all. There was firing in the White House, nothing to do with the Sailors or the American soldiers. 

They teleported up to the roof and gathered in three rings: the Asatara, the four Outers, and the three Inners still in action. Upon Venus' command, they launched their bolts into the heavens. Then Mercury turned her visor on the White House and the particular coordinates where the combined attack would return to earth.

And then Jupiter shouted, "Stop it! Kimi Moon is inside!"

* * *

**10:34 am EDT**

General Thysson commented, "The little one was right about that attack of theirs."

"Except that they missed, General," said Buonnarti, who was not bothering to take cover under the conference table. 

* * *

**10:35 am EDT**

Veitingoff burst into the Monroe office, expecting to find Baiburs dead or alive. He brought up his weapon, the heavy sniper rifle he could aim as easily as a pistol, but he hesitated to fire. The little apparition before him, black-winged with deaths-heads festooning her hair, ears, and throat, was holding an infant in one arm while typing into a laptop with the other. Baiburs leaned back in his chair seeing nothing, a blue rose growing out of one eye.

Meanwhile the senshi were fighting in the basement--a surprisingly brief fight since only two of Baiburs' men were still alive when they arrived. While Fahd had died a patriot, most of his men had chosen the better part of valor. The mercenaries, being experienced, knew when it was time to give up.

Delta Force came about a minute late for the final fight. Baiburs had picked brave men for the final defense of the bomb, but not very smart ones. They did not figure out how to rearm the bomb before Moon Angel Lambda phased through the steel door of the most secure place in the White House. Their bullets passed through her body. The blade of Zoë's sword was more substantial, and the Delta Force commander would say later that the bomb room looked like an abattoir.

* * *

"The task is done," said the Grey Lady. "You must return now."

"Can't I stay a little longer?" asked Sailor Moon.

"Chibi-usa is using the _ginzuishou,_" said Endymion. "It is dangerous to remain, for her and for you."

She kissed her immortal love, and then turned to the soldier and his lady. "You were both as kind as you could be to my people. What can I do when I return?"

"Save Zita," said Nagy, impressing within her all he could of his child.

Sailor Moon did not have time for another kiss before she was drawn away from the world of death.

* * *

Usagi's first sight of her world through her own eyes was someone not of it--Theophilus the musical vampire was playing his mute clarinet. "I can hear your music more clearly now."

"Not as clearly as the Grey Lady, Madame, I would wager. But you are an even closer friend of death than you were."

"Why are you here?"

"I came to help. And why am I here at this moment? It is night. The living need their sleep, so I volunteered to watch you. Should I get the others?"

"Do you know if Kimi told the others about Nagy and Horthy's child?"

"Ah, the child of your enemies," said Theophilus, shaking his head. "Your sense of mercy never fails to astonish. Yes, your daughter did tell the rest of your court. They did find the child in time. Fortunately for her, perhaps, her captors were swine. Instead of simply disposing of the child and disappearing when they heard that their great scheme had failed, they decided to have some sport with her first. Their sport attracted the attention of the younger Venus and the oldest of Jupiter's children. I understand they made quite a mess before their elders arrived." Theophilus shook his head. "Such a pity I wasn't along. All that lovely blood wasted. A meal I would have truly relished . . . in Paris, too. I haven't been to a Paris in ages. Perhaps I will be here long enough to see yours."

Theophilus played a few notes of unearthly music, perhaps to work a small spell, perhaps simply for pleasure, or perhaps to get a bad taste from his mind. "Should I get someone else?"

"I don't know . . . I can't quite see the clock. But I can see you well enough . . . I guess I see better in the dark now, even when I'm not transformed."

"One of the benefits of being more intimate with death, perhaps," said Theophilus. He pulled a watch from somewhere within his very odd, very flamboyant outfit. "I stopped your clock; the chimes are too loud. Mmmm, I believe it is a bit past four. Not much night left for me now. You would have to get into trouble at the height of the local summer, wouldn't you?"

"I'll schedule my next crisis for December 21st," said Usagi. "If everyone else is asleep . . . play for me awhile?"

"Of course, Madame. Do you have a request?"

"The song from the Moon Kingdom, the only one I remember. Do you remember it?"

"I never forget a melody, Madame."

* * *

**Chapter 30: Funeral Games**

* * *

As Kaidou Yoko, Prime Minister Matsudaira's daughter predicted, Yamashita the _baka_ was made into a great hero and given a state funeral. NHK carried it on both of its channels, and the commercial networks in Japan did not do much less.

Kaidou Goro missed that funeral, and it was noted, though not officially.

* * *

"Oh . . . Kaidou-san," said Rei, struggling to bring his face in focus. "Why are you here? How did you find me?" Rei winced, and then asked, "Did my father send you?" 

Kaidou shook his head, apparently not catching the dry jest Rei had intended. "Mizuno-san works in this hospital," he said. "It was not hard to guess you would be here. Your father does not know I am here."

"I would not bet that he does not," said Rei.

"He should not know," said Kaidou. "Actually I don't know where he is."

"In Japan," said Rei, "Since Friday, but he promised to return . . . perhaps he will keep this promise. And where is Yoko your wife, Kaidou-san?"

"Also in Japan," he answered, "With her family." He reached out and took her hand.

After staring at his hand for a moment, Rei said, "How long have you been here?"

"About two hours."

"Two hours of watching me snore?" said Rei.

"Everyone snores sometimes. You are not bad."

"_Baka._ You are very foolish to be here, Kaidou-san." But she did not remove his hand. She began to talk about Yuuichirou. It was a long time before she came to the point where she admitted she was not sure where to take his ashes.

* * *

Being officially a Jew, Ginger Han was buried in the District before the climax of the crisis, since one of the tenets of that faith is that the dead must be laid to rest quickly. Reinterment was not a priority of her parents for the moment. They missed her funeral, carried out by a rabbi and a _minyan_ of old men, none of whom had known her in life.

* * *

Naru had a traditional Buddhist funeral for Gurio, not because Gurio had been a particularly fervant Buddhist, but because his family expected it, and there seemed no harm. She faced a lot more pressure than she expected to move back to Japan, finally pushing her inlaws back with a promise to make a longer visit later, when matters were more settled.

* * *

Sumi Kurume had had definite opinions on nearly everything, and one of them was religion. He had been a rationalist, from a family of determined rationalists. So she had held a secular memorial service for him. Later, she had taken his ashes to a place down the coast that Usagi suggested, and scattered them on the wind, returning what was left of Kurume to nature. What his ghost thought of this, if he really was in the world of the dead as Usagi had said, Ami did not guess. But it felt like the right thing. What mattered was what he had done in his life, not where his ashes happened to be.

* * *

Mamoru hadn't a follower of any religion in this life. In private, Usagi did the rites of the old Moon Kingdom as she best remembered them. In public, she held a secular funeral, well-attended not only by the _senshi_ and all of Mamoro's daughters, but by a large part of the hospital staff at Highland, many people from Stanford, and many of his patients.

It was at Mamoru's funeral that they first showed up: concerned strangers--Christians. Very active Christians brimming with sympathy, and with bright-eyed enthusiasm. Not Catholics; Rei the _miko_ had gone to a Catholic school in Japan, so Usagi and her friends were long familiar with Catholics. Naru even had cousins who were Catholics. No, these people were from some other sect.

They seemed particularly interested in Makoto.

* * *

Nagy, Horthy, Sergeiev, Beriev . . . and al Kaukji and "Baiburs" and the rest of the enemy dead were buried in unmarked graves in one of the many military areas of Nevada. They were not the first officially anonymous dead to be put there. The survivors were buried beneath a deep blanket of secrecy at several military sites while the government of the United States pondered whether to prosecute them or find other uses for them.

* * *

Magda Esterhazy, aside from cheating on her taxes a little like every good French citizen, born or naturalized, had led a blameless life which ended because she was an inconvenience to the agents who seized her niece. She got a funeral mass, of course, but was saved from the anonymity of potters field by an anonymous donor. Since she had had the good taste to be born in France, her niece was safe from deportation. For the time being, the girl known as Zita Esterhazy went to an orphanage.

* * *

Henry Uffizi was the highest-ranking United States official to die, but he had the misfortune to be among several Secret Service fatalities, so his funeral was much less well covered than that of Abel Ruthen, the only FBI casualty. Since his body layed in state in the Hoover building before the funeral, his often-said jest came true: His last exit was feet first. His funeral was attended by the now-confirmed Director of the FBI, and by His Honor, the Mayor of Washington DC, Winston Claybourne, who made the longest speech.

* * *

Urawa Ryo's funeral was the last of all the fatalities because of a cruel mistake: Makoto found the wrong body in the coffin when he was supposedly shipped back. But it seemed to have one good result: It gave Makoto more time to think about what to do. Ryo had been interested in many religions, but he had never really picked one. Mostly he followed Shinto because his parents had been fairly traditionalist, like a lot of the Northern people, and like Makoto's parents. _Maybe we feel we have to be even more Japanese,_ thought Makoto as she pondered the problem. She finally decided to have a mostly secular funeral with Shinto and Hindu glosses--Zara was pretty free about switching between the Shinto devotions of her father and Makoto, and the Hindu rites of her mother.

Makoto did not expect a big affair like Mamoru's funeral. Mamoru's business had been saving lives; Ryo's had been making money for other people. She expected she would have just her friends and perhaps some of the school friends of her children. Still, she asked for an open funeral, not a private one. Ryo had been a hard man to really know, but an easy man to like. Who could say who might want to say a last goodbye to him?

As she had for Yuuichirou, she wore kimono for the rites, and this time Zoë, Zara and Tammy wore kimono too, though Makoto had suggested a sari for Zara at first. Another noticeable expense, even when all she had purchased were the materials and had done most of the sewing herself. Ryo's estate was tied up by a lawsuit: One of his clients was claiming Ryo had somehow mishandled his investments. _Greenmail,_ Rei called it, a frivolous suit designed simply to get Makoto to pay to make the litigation go away. There was life insurance, several policies, but the important one was from a company that seemed to be stalling, something about a conveniently-missing payment and the policy technically lapsing during the time of Ryo's death. The others were all designed to pay for the children's education. That left just her own savings, rapidly melting away.

But some things were not to be stinted on.

It was when the old Shinto priest was performing his rites that the voice came from the back of the room.

"Come back to me, darlings! Come back to Jesus!"

Makoto turned around as quickly as she could in a formal kimono and saw the back of the room had filled up with strangers. Some of them had cameras. But she recognized two of them. She had never met them in person, but she knew who they were even before Philip buried his face in her bosom, before Tammy almost fell over backwards before Zoë caught her.

"Come back! Come back to Jesus!"

The faces Makoto recognized among the strangers taking up the chant were Vera and Alvin Yount's, Philip and Tammy's birth parents.

* * *

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